


Princess and the Pup

by degradedpsychotic, silvermane



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, broken zack tbh, but also lots of fluff, first part of many tbh, in which the cetra are the ruling class, raw rp, some mean stuff going on here too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/degradedpsychotic/pseuds/degradedpsychotic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermane/pseuds/silvermane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aerith is a princess, and Zack is a labor slave bought to protect her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another raw rp transcript. We only really plan these loosely and let them develop on their own. While really self indulgent, this thread happens to be one of my favorites. It's also the longest we've done.

The queen and the princess are coming. They’re looking for staff, a slave to personally tend to the princess’s every need. It’s important, and he’s been ordered not to _mess this up_. 

Spine straight. Eyes forward.

He’s tied, unable to move anything other than his head. His hands are pulled behind him, arms around the wooden pole behind him to keep him _put_. His ankles are bound as well, and he’s forced to balance on his knees, in nothing but a dirty loincloth across his hips to provide modesty.

He’s covered in dirt and blood, his quick bath of a _bucket_ over his head doing little but make him look worse. There are also cuts, lacerations from _punishment_ cracked with dry blood. He’s _broken_ , nothing but a replaceable mutt. A loss of money, a _waste_. Choked up like an animal and used to pull plows, heavy labor.

Other than that… he’s only good to _hurt_.

There are others here, tied and dirty like him. They’re in a line, _displayed_ , unlike the quick show in a public auction. The reason is so the queen and the princess can look at them, can pick out whichever one they want…

He hears the door open, the sound of footsteps as the auctioneer leads the women in.

The princess and her mother are just as beautiful as he’s heard. Queen Ilfana, holding her head high, as if too _great_ to look upon slaves. Though he catches her eyes peeking, a sympathy within them. And the princess… She’s _gorgeous_ , hair in an elaborate braid and held with a silk ribbon, a simple dress of pastel pink as her wide green eyes scan over the slaves, _searching_...

And he finds her, meets her eyes, _pleads_ for her.

_I can’t go back there…_

\-------------

He’s certainly not sure why the queen requested _this_ lot, the pleasure slaves far more...suitable for royal labor. And if she’s looking for a companion for her daughter…

But the humble merchant would not dare argue past the _suggestion_. 

_No. Labor slaves._

There’s only so much he can do, they’re like cattle. Not meant for the refined tastes of queen and princess. They’re still filthy, many wet from the pathetic dump of cold water that counts as their bath. 

But...at least...he’s rounded up the best looking ones. 

The merchant stands out of the way as the queen and her daughter step in. Almost immediately the princess averts her eyes down, obviously not accustomed to seeing men in such wretched attire. 

After a moment, however...she lifts her head. 

They’re bound in such wicked cruelty, she finds, something that makes her express a small noise of pity. And as her gaze begins to look them over, something catches her eye, an expression of _desperation_.

Bright, beautiful blue eyes catch hers, the face they belong to youthful and handsome. A shock of dark hair cascades from his head, and despite the dirt and blood and the loincloth she finds him beautiful…

She takes a step forward, after glancing at her mother and the merchant, then another. Slowly she kneels down, lifting a hand as though she wishes to _touch_ but is yet shy. 

\---------

He doesn’t dare drop her gaze when he catches it, eyes wide as she steps near before she kneels before him. He doesn’t dare speak, knowing he’s not _permitted_ , though his eyes gaze to her hand as she shyly reaches for him, but does not touch.

She’s a _princess_ , and him a slave. Touching him would dirty her, defile her slender, manicured hands… But she seems interested in him, and there’s pity and _sympathy_ in those wide green eyes…

He’s heard things about her. That she’s gentle, lovely, _caring_. A heart big enough to fit her entire kingdom into it. He hopes that kindness extends to _slaves_ , to someone as broken and dirty as he is…

But he still tilts his head towards her, resting the weight of his cheek into her palm.

_Please…_

If he isn’t sold, his master will likely _kill_ him, just to be rid of him.

He turns his head a bit more, a submissive _lick_ of his tongue against her palm.

He’s just a dog. Just a _mutt_.

\----------

The desperation in that gaze threatens to stop her heart, and when he doesn’t flinch away from her hand, she lets it rest gently against his cheek. 

_You poor thing…_

She leans in closer when he responds to the touch, when his cheek comes to rest more _fully_ in her palm. Her thumb traces his cheekbone, careful as she can see the almost invisible bruise from _slaps_. 

A small sign hangs from the pole above him, giving a brief history and temperament. She lifts her head to read it, her heart falling when she sees he’s had so many masters before her. She knows that’s not a good sign, that it usually means a streak of rebellion or _fight_ , but one look at him and she _knows_ he’s loyal. 

Her mother taught her from an early age to trust her _gut_. To trust the small voice that informs her.

She loses herself reading the sign, so much so that when she feels a wet _heat_ against her palm, it startles her. 

Green eyes dart down, seeing that tongue peek back inside his lips.

\----------

When she startles, he shies away. He's likely crossed a boundary, to be so forward with _royalty_. He'll be beaten for it later, no doubt.

But she's already read his sign. The list of masters he's had, the temperament of _disobedient._ But there's also notes of his strength, of his hard labor.

But why would a princess need a labor slave? If it's someone for companionship, why not a slave bred for that? Someone as small and dainty as she…

He dares to look at the auctioneer, but not a moment too long. He glances to the queen as well, but his sight settles on the princess before him, waiting for her decision.

_Please, I'm sorry… I promise I'll obey you, I'll be good for you. Please…_

_\-------------_

Her hands return to his face, to slide along his jaw, to feel the weight and strength of his neck. She settles back closer, to slide her short nails along his hairline, an expression of apology for startling him.

“...hey,” she coaxes softly, when he shies from her, “...you’re alright…”

This time, her hand slides up, to the top of his head, fingers getting lost in his dark mane. She’s surprised at how _soft_ it is, though further back and she sees a matte where he’s likely been thrown around by…

“...you’re not disobedient, are you…?” comes that soft voice, a gentle sympathy and _knowing_. Her fingers brush his temple and she sees a vision of him, strapped to a plow much too heavy, disobedience measured not by rebellion but by a burden far too vast for a half starved slave to be expected to handle…

Her fingers slide down along his shoulders, spotting the bruises and chaffing from such a harness, dainty fingers brushing against it. 

“...look at me,” she coaxes, when he glances to the merchant, to her mother, and when those blue eyes return, she offer a smile that’s so _soft_ , like a ray of sunshine on a cold day.

And when they do, hers suddenly widen, catching another vision. The denial of food. An exasperated expression. The declaration that if he’s not worth anything in the market, then he’s not worth the effort it takes to keep him alive.

A tear suddenly streams down her cheek.

\----------

He tries to relax at her touch, at the way she feels the tendons on his neck. The soft scratch takes him by surprise, however, though he muffles his reaction.

Spine straight, eyes forward.

But when she speaks, that voice so soft and _caring,_ he could swear she was an angel at one point, placed on earth for this moment.

But he's not permitted to talk, so when she asks her question, he shakes his head. His masters claim him disobedient where he is just _unable_. But for a princess… He will do whatever she asks of him.

But she hasn't picked him yet. There's still the possibility that she'll choose another, that he'll be thrown back at his master's feet. He'll be whipped and tortured for what he's done, what he's failed to do, and perhaps granted mercy of a swift death…

The tear that falls startles him, panic flaring in his chest. Will the merchant think he's done something to harm her? To upset her?

_No, no, please… Please don't cry. Please, no…_

His hand flex behind his back, tingling with the lack of blood flow.

_Please… Let me show you I can be_ good _for something… Don't cry over me…_

\----------

Something is scaring him, and it takes her a moment to realize that her cheek is wet...and that it’s _frightened_ him. She can’t help a sad little smile, quickly reaching up to wipe away her tear, brushing her hand over his temple in a soft gesture.

And then she leans in, looking at the way his hands are held so cruelly behind his back. Her hair brushes against his neck, spilling across his shoulder and breast.

She settles back, her fingers softly drawing along his chest, eyeing the ropes that bind him with mild irritation, picking at them with her finger before her eyes lift to his face. She seems to search him, looking for something. His soul is laid bare to her, his intentions, his desires. She looks for shreds of deceit and wickedness, a sign that her interest is misplaced. 

It takes her several minutes, but she’s satisfied by the end. 

“...This one, Mother...I-I choose this man.”

This _man_. Not this _slave_ , not this _thing_ or _dog_. 

Her hands return to his face, both of them cupping his cheeks.

“...you’ll be good for me, won’t you? Speak…”

She invites him to whisper his fealty, her thumbs stroking along his jaw, exploring what now belongs to _her_. 

\--------

He could tremble, the way she touches him. Inspecting his bonds, but looking at his chest with such _disdain_ …

He won't be chosen.

_Please…_

She shares at him, and he feels _naked_ , laid bare for her to see. And so he stares back, _pleading…_

She speaks, calls out to her mother, and he braces himself.

But she chooses him.

His eyes widen, half with shock and half with _relief_ as the queen nods, discussing arrangements with the merchant.

He just keeps his eyes on her. On his angel.

She commands him to speak, and he does, though his voice is dry, cracked, _weak_ with a lack of water and use.

“Yes, your highness. Wh-whatever you ask of me, my lady…”

He won't be permitted to leave with her now. He'll be dragged and caged, delivered in a wagon in the evening. He's been bought and sold enough to know how it works.

Perhaps he'll be branded, too. Something reserved only for the slaves of nobles and royalty.

...or will she be rid of him, too, when she grows tired?

\------

His voice, broken and weak, gives her pause, something that makes her want to pull that head to her breast and save him from this hell _now_. But she can do a little for him...even if he won’t be taken with her now, even if she won’t see him again until after court. 

She has a small water canteen, for her comfort in the walk from the castle to the market, though it will be set to far better use offering her new servant some relief…

She unscrews the lid, stroking his jaw as she lifts it, gently resting the bottle against parched lips.

“...here,” she whispers, voice gentle and soft, “...you must be terribly thirsty.”

There is no deceit. No trap. Just _kindness_ in its rawest form, bred of her sympathy and _love_. It’s only been a few short minutes and yet she’s already in _love_ with him, her fingers sliding along his jaw as she seeks to care for him.

“...they haven’t treated you well, have they…”

She still feels haunted by what she saw in those eyes.

“...I won’t let them kill you. You belong to me now.”

\------

He could _cry_ for how relieved he is, water filling his eyes. But he doesn't dare let them fall, knowing there will be punishment.

But her hands treat him with such softness where he's been slapped and punched and he _trusts her_ in her entirety when a canteen is pressed to his lips.

It takes nothing more than her gentle coaxing for him to drink.

He doesn't take much, only two swallows to wet his throat and the cracked dryness of his mouth. He would like more, yes, but he doesn't dare take _too much_.

When she asks how he's treated, he's silent. He will not speak out against his master, when he is not entirely _hers_ yet. He simply bows his head, pressing a kiss to her palm as he whispers to her skin.

“Thank you, my princess. For your kindness and… generosity.”

_I owe you my life. I promise I'll return that debt._

Though… How much is his life even _worth_?

\-------

“That can’t be enough,” she whispers, setting the bottle aside for a moment to stroke his face, taking the corner of her cloak to dab at the corner of his mouth. “...drink more, my love.”

She again lifts the bottle to his mouth, a hand lowering to slide along his jugular, where she can see it against the thick collar about his neck. 

“...drink until you’re slaked so you can remember who owns you now.”

And when he finishes, she reaches back, unbinding one of the silk ribbons in her hair, sliding it along his nose before she binds it above his collar, loose and soft about his neck. 

“...I wish I could take you with me now…” she whispers, “...I don’t want them to be rough with you any more…”

Her voice breaks a little, as though the thought of him suffering hurts _her_ physically.

“...but...what’s your name?”

There was no need to name him on the sign, no need to name a _mutt_. But she wants to know. Wants to know his _given_ name, the one his mother would call him, the one the other slaves might know him by. 

\-------

When she insists on more water, he only hesitates for a moment. He knows by now that if he drinks, he'll have to relieve himself later, that he won't be given the luxury of a bathroom… not until he's in the castle.

And yet he drinks, the cool water soothing the cracks and dust in his throat. A droplet begins to drip towards his chin in his eagerness as the bottle is pulled away, but the soft silk of her cloak wipes him clean.

He flinches as she touches his neck, knowing that deep bruises exist below his thick collar. But he smells perfumes as a ribbon is presented to him, tied loosely around his neck above the crude leather…

He belongs to her.

He is silent, admiring her kindness and wondering if she _is_ an angel when she asks his name.

Dog. Mutt. It. Slave. Pet.

It's been so long since he's been called by his _name_.

“Zack,” he sighs, the name so alien and yet so nostalgic to his own ears. “Z-Zack Fair, my lady.”

She wants to be gentle with him. She wants to _know_ him. Surely the castle must be paradise for a slave… To bask in riches and accompany the queen and her pure hearted daughter. To have a bed, perhaps, and clothing that is more than rags.

And with his angel there… He cannot think of a single reason to be afraid.

\---------

She whispers his name, as though committing it to her tongue, as though enjoying feeling it on her lips. 

“Zack…”

She likes it, all the more since she has a feeling he hasn’t been called that in a long time. 

But when her mother calls her name, Aerith’s heart breaks. She bows to press her lips to his forehead.

“...I’ll see you tonight, Zack…”

~

She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s _antsy_ all through court. All she can think about is Zack, fearing the mistreatment he may still be suffering. The rights of slaves was something she always thought about, from the children in the kitchen that made her food to the slaves that plowed beyond her gardens, beyond the castle walls. 

And it is the _moment_ that court convenes that she slips out, heading to the back, to the slave chambers. Perhaps he’s already arrived, maybe he--

She hears a commotion, the sound of chains rattling. He’s being dragged in now, forced to kneel as a healer very _roughly_ stitches closed the worst of his wounds. They throw the chain connecting to his collar over a beam, a guard pulling it taut to keep Zack half choked and _still_ , in case he begins to struggle.

She’s seen similar treatment for cattle before. Restrain the head, despite the poor beast’s terror, while the wounds are roughly and quickly treated. Despite the frantic noises of pain and fear. 

She begins to run towards them, heels clicking on the marble beneath. 

\---------

Even as chains are replacing his rope and he's stuffed into a cage, he does not feel fear. Even as the carriage bumps uneven cobblestone and jostles him, he does not feel fear. Not when he's unloaded, not when castle guards exchange words with his handlers…

He does not feel fear until those guards grab his chains, until he's dragging and forced to kneel as a nurse sets to work with a needle 

He can't help the sounds of pain as his tender wounds are forced to close, stitched with needle and thread as if he's a ripped sock. He begins to panic, trying to get _away_ , but the chain on his collar _pulls_ and he's forced to his feet. He's on his tip-toes with the force, air nearly cut off by the collar digging into his throat. Into the pink ribbon that had been tied with _love_.

This cannot be the castle.

The woman is still stitching him, roughly swatting dirt from his skin. He's thrashing, cuffed hands reaching to his neck to try to ease the weight on his collar, but to no avail--

Where is his mistress? His angel? Where is the whisper to keep him safe, to keep him from rough treatment?

A farce.

He's in a blind _panic_ as that chain pulls tighter, as he hears heels on the cold floor and one of the guards booming to _hold him still_.

She lied…

_They'll kill me…!_

\---------

The guards startle as she _flies_ past them, grabbing the chain holding her slave’s throat and demanding they _let him go_.

She’s half panicked herself when they resist her, screaming until they finally let him drop to the ground. When one guard tries to warn her that he’s _dangerous_ , she thrashes away, wrapping her arms around him to keep his head to her breast, to stroke his hair back and let _herself_ calm down.

It’s clear they’ve never seen their princess in such a state.

“Be _gentle_ ,” she finally whispers, looking over his shoulder to the nurse. “...he’s not an _animal_. For the goddess _sake_ at least give him something for the pain…”

_Aren’t animals afforded that much?_

She doesn’t let him go, watching the nurse stand to fetch a few more things. And though she won’t let him _go_ , she does pull back, trying to see how _bad_ it is.

“...Zack…?” she whispers, smoothing her hands against his cheek.

\----------

He barely registers the fury that is the princess, suddenly dropped to the ground. His hands still grasp at his collar, pulling at it as he gasps for air, panic like _fire_ in his veins. He hears yelling, through the ringing in his ears, and he just wants it all to _stop_ \--

Her arms are around him. She smells of the same soaps and perfumes that her ribbon does.

She's protecting him.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he buries his head against her like a child, feeling those fingers work through his hair, the beat of her heart…

_Not an animal_.

He feels a tear fall.

She pulls back, his shield gone, and his panicked eyes search for hers, for any sign that she's setting him up, that she's lying…

He sees nothing there but love, sympathy…

“M-my princess,” he chokes, throat _sore_. “Thank… Thank you…”

He flinches away when the nurse returns, chained hands gripping Aerith's gown in _fear._

_I don't want this…_

\------

There’s so much _apology_ in those eyes, guilt as well when he searches her. She feels terrible that even here they’re being so _rough_ …

When the nurse returns, she pulls Zack’s head to her shoulder.

“...I know it hurts, but they have to treat your wounds…”

The nurse applies a thin salve over his back, now waiting a few moments until the herbs numb the agony and she can stitch him quietly.

The wild beast just moments before...is so utterly _quiet_ , something that makes the guards shift awkwardly.

But Aerith is so _relieved_ , as her head falls to lay on top of his, that she doesn’t notice one of the guards coming close, taking a hold of dark locks to hold Zack still and shoving the iron into his hip.

Left hip, near the back. Positioning for a sex slave.

She’s too late to do anything but _stare_ , wrapping an arm around Zack’s neck as they finish.

\---------

The muscles on his back still twitch like a terrified animal as the salve is administered, but it _helps_. The only thing he feels in the slight tug on his skin, his head resting on Aerith's shoulder with a small whimper of submission. Of trust.

Though whatever semblance of _calm_ he has is shattered when a hand roughly tangles into his hair and a searing _pain_ buries into his hip.

He _screams._

He thrashes as he blindly feels the pain, the smell of his own burning flesh tainting the air. He tries to get away from the pain that was sprung so _suddenly_ , back arching to get away from it all, to hide himself in the folds of Aerith's dress, into her love--

Though, he knew he would be branded, didn't he?

When the iron leaves him, he's gasping for air, trembling something _awful_ in the princess's arms. His panic has renewed, yet he knows not to let go of Aerith. She had protected him once, so perhaps…

He feels more tears streak down his face, but he does not have the strength to make them stop.

\--------

She feels her breast tighten the moment she sees the glowing hot brand, and when Zack begins to thrash, the only thing she can do it just hold him. Try...desperately...to ride it out. 

And when it stops, she hears the whisper behind her, that the _bath_ is ready for the slave. 

“Warm,” she chokes, “W-warm, it had better be _warm_ …”

Her eyes are wide.

“...make my bath tonight cold if it is extra work for the servants, just...please, give him that at least. Let his bath be warm…”

Her voice is _trembling_ , as she holds Zack to herself, taking a deep breath when the servant gives a shaky nod to the order and leaves to fix the bath.

“....please, please forgive me,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his, “...I...I didn’t know they would do this…”

When the servant returns, Aerith offers her a very faint smile, an apologetic one.

“...come on,” she whispers into Zack’s ear, “...come on. A bath will feel so nice, Zack…”

\-------

He shivers against her as if he's caught cold, muscles locked from the pure _agony_. But she fights for him to get a _warm_ bath, a small comfort…

But when she apologizes… He could never blame her in the first place. His savior, his angel…

Whatever he suffers through now is less than death, and so he will be alright.

His hip aches to the _bone_ as Aerith urges him to stand, wobbling to his feet. His chains clink as he moves, the one attached to his collar pooled on the cold marble floor.

He doesn't want to bathe.

He wants to lay down.

But he waits for Aerith, not following the servant. He doesn't _trust_ them, and he has no reason to. He doesn't trust the guards, doesn't trust the nurse.

But he trusts Aerith.

He ducks his head, letting his lips run over the ribbon to calm his bubbling anxieties.

“Yes, my princess… Thank you.”

\-------

But she doesn’t leave yet. She doesn’t guide him to the bath. When Zack stands, she reaches up, though it’s a bit of a stretch…

Soft, manicured hands work at the collar about his neck, struggling until it finally pulls loose. With a soft huff she lets it fall from him, reaching down to take his shackled wrists next.

“G-give me the key,” she says to the guards, though they resist.

“He’s been dangerous, My Lady. If he--”

“The _key_ ,” she says, a sharp sniffle showing that she’s still worked up. “The key or unchain him yourself, _please…”_

The chains..fall, the guard quickly unlocking both wrists and letting Zack _go_. 

Aerith reaches up, gently adjusting the ribbon about his neck.

“...he’s submissive,” she whispers, half to herself, half to the guard, “...he’s submissive, he’ll do as he’s told. There’s no need to brutalize him…”

Not by neck, not by chain, but by _hand_ does she lead him to where the bath is being drawn, gently wrapping her fingers in his to guide him. 

She kneels beside an inlaid tub, reaching down to make sure it’s warm as ordered. And when she’s satisfied…

“...I’ll do it. Let the servants go about other duties…”

The slavemaster still stands by as Aerith strips out of her gown to nothing but her under-dress, kneeling down. She pours some oils into the water, taking the salve he was treated with and pouring some of it in as well. 

“...it’s warm,” she whispers, gazing up at Zack, “...come on in.”

\-----------

As he's released, shackles removed a bit _hesitantly_ , he feels like he can breathe again…

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispers again, hand still shaking as she leads him to the bath.

But she excuses the servants. She begins to _undress_.

His eyes go wide as he turns, to give her privacy. Will she be bathing with him? Does she do this for all of her slaves?

He doesn't look until she speaks again, though it's with… Confusion.

Why would she wash him? A princess, washing a dirty, weak slave? Shouldn't it be him that tends to _her_ every need?

“My princess, I…”

          _I don't understand. Why are you doing this?_

Besides the act of a bath, there's the very real fact that they have differing anatomy… It's indecent. Inappropriate of him.

But she shows no sign of backing down, nor allowing him to excuse his actions. To insist that he can do it _himself._

But he slides in, shyly removing his loincloth as he sinks into the water.

“My lady, I… I can wash myself. You shouldn't burden yourself…”

\--------

She kneels down, dipping a cloth into the warm water with a trembling hand. She draws his head to rest against her knees, squeezing out the excess water and beginning to very gently wipe his face clean.

But she doesn’t tell him _no_ , gently handing him a cloth  and soap.

“...I need to make sure your wounds are clean, especially on your back,” she whispers, rubbing the cloth along his jaw affectionately. “...but I won’t take away your autonomy. Just...thought you might like some gentle treatment after…”

She trails off, lifting her arm to rub her forehead with the back of her hand, still clearly upset. She lets out a soft huff, a breath…

“...you’re not a burden.”

\-------

Her hand is gentle and the cloth is warm as she wipes dirt and panicked sweat from his brow. She's so tender, so soft, that he finds himself wondering about the other slaves in the castle…

He says a soft thank you as he's given soap and a cloth, washing his chest and legs and the in-between, muscles twitching as she reminds him.

(The spot on his hip feels so _cold_ in the water.)

She seems so upset, almost _angry_ with the way the guards had treated him. But he doesn't agree aloud, doesn't dare speak out against those that hold a higher rank…

But he's not a burden.

“Thank you, my lady…”

As he maneuvers to wash his toes, the slavemaster steps closer, peering into the water for a moment.

“If he is to be a bedslave, my lady, it would be wise to have him circumcised.”

\---------

Her hands _stop_. Stops washing him, stops _moving_ stops breathing for half a moment. Green eyes lift from her task to the slavemaster, feeling a strong wave of _possessiveness_ sweep through her.

“No.” her voice is a little _sharp…_ “...No. He’s been through quite enough today.”

Goddess above, the thought of _that_ after all of the pain and panic this poor man has been through today…

“...he’s not an animal,” she repeats softly, carefully sliding her hand to rest at the back of Zack’s neck, dousing his hair so she can wash it carefully.

\---------

The water feels very, _very_ cold.

The slavemaster is surprised, a bit taken aback by the _sharpness_ of her voice. Though he simply thinks it may be a preference, not backing down.

“Then to sterilize him? To bear a slave's child…”

It's taboo. _Disgusting._

Zack only shivers, sinking deeper into the water as Aerith washes his hair. The way he's talked about as if he's a piece of meat… It terrifies him.

But he knows he will never be _equal_.

\------

“N-no…” she hisses, feeling the way her slave begins to quake anew. “No. No such thing. Let him be…”

She checks his back quickly, making sure the wounds are cleared  and clean and ready for bandaging. 

She coaxes him out, after thoroughly rinsing his hair, smiling briefly as she looks him over, without the dirt and grime and blood he _is_ certainly handsome. She runs her hands along his arms, stroking the clear delineation of his muscles.

But she looks up, looks at his left ear. 

_Unpierced…_

She bites her lip. 

Tagging is common, to pierce a slave’s ear and put a number or something identifying, but Aerith also thinks of the bonding aspect of this as well, when lovers receive matching piercings and wear matching jewelry.

“...Slavemaster,” she whispers softly, as Zack is dried off, as the nurse begins to bandage him, “...I...I want his left ear pierced…”

Left ear, to follow down to the left hand, where a wedding band would sit. She hopes Zack will forgive her for this small point of pain. 

\-------- 

His hands move to cover himself as the slavemaster speaks, his breaths coming in short pants of _fear_. But Aerith speaks against it, Aerith will _protect_ him, and he eagerly follows her lead as he's removed from the tub.

The water he leaves behind is brown and red and _dirty._

He allows himself to be bandaged, flinching when a square of cotton is placed over the brand he cannot see, to keep it from infection.

Instead, he focuses on Aerith's gentle touch, the way her fingers trace his arm. He watches her eyes look him over, settling on his left ear.

He's seen tagged slaves before. A crude piercing with a number or a heavy weight to remind them who they belong to. But he's never been tagged, never had a master that kept him long enough to bother.

He's been branded, and now he's being tagged. Perhaps… She'll keep him after all.

The slavemaster nods at the request, a short “yes, my lady” before he leaves to get supplies. Yet when he returns, all he holds in a thick needle and a small bit of metal to put into the piercing until Aerith finds something more permanent.

Zack looks at _her_ , fear still causing him to shake when he sees the size and sharpness of the needle.

...she won't let him be hurt.

\--------------

When she sees the needle, her eyes widen a touch, lips parting as her hold on Zack’s arm _tightens_ protectively. 

She was too young to remember how her own were pierced, though she very much doubts someone would dare approach her with such an instrument. 

“...As you would pierce _my own_ ,” she says sharply, laying a hand over Zack’s chest as she turns to address the slavemaster. 

She gazes at the slavemaster for a moment in thought.

“...if that is all you have, then send for the royal jeweler. Find my slave,” here her voice chokes a bit, hating the possessive term, “...something soft to wear. Black silk…”

She assumed they would dress him but a cursory glance about the room indicates there will be no clothes for him. He’ll be paraded in the cold hallways of her castle wearing _nothing_ if she does not intervene.

But for now she can offer him a touch of care, of humanity, small dainty hands reaching for the cloak she shed when she stripped to her undergarments. She lifts it up, not to wrap about her own shoulders, but his, stroking his jaw as she binds it below his chin.

She draws his head down, close enough so she can press a very soft kiss to that chin, a gesture of warmth and good will.

“...you’ve been so good for me,” she breathes, reaching down to pull her gown back over the white shift.

\---------

The sharp _protectiveness_ is obviously not a thought that the slavemaster shares, though he bows with another “yes, my lady” before he exits, to fetch the jeweler and some clothing.

Zack is still trembling, residual panic still causing his heart to race. But as that warm cloak is fastened about him, as those lips press his chin, the tremors… lessen.

She is kind. She is impossibly kind, yet her heart cannot extend to others. All she can do for him is protect him, command clothing and _decency_ and gentleness for him.

It is much better than death.

He turns away to give her privacy as she puts her gown on, a small breath leaving him at the soft praise. He's not been obedient, to thrash against his chains or shy away from being branded, but she still finds him _good_ …

But one thing is bothering him.

“My lady, I…”

He is not a bedslave. He has not been trained, not been _raised_ to do something like that. The closest thing to _experience_ he has is when one of his master's wives demanded him to please her. He was later beaten, near _killed_ , by his master for what his wife claimed as rape…

“I… would not make a good bedslave.”

Not to mention that he's far from attractive. Beaten and bruised, scars in his back from whips and knives, and a scar on his jaw from the same. While she is dainty and heavenly, he is rough and hellish. 

But he doesn't want to fail her, even so.

\------------

She pulls the dress on, over her shoulders and breathes out a soft sigh, gazing down at the muddied water with an ill feeling as she comes to realize that he’s been caked in this for goddess’ knows how long. She’s lost in this thought when he speaks.

She turns to him, eyes soft, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. She reaches to take his hands in hers, bringing them to her mouth to kiss.

“...didn’t buy you for that,” she whispers, “...mother wanted me to choose a labor slave because she wanted someone _strong_ , someone that could protect me. Someone whose allegiance and loyalty would be only to _me_.”

She reaches up to touch the scar on his jaw, finding all of his scars to be interesting and in their own cruel way, beautiful. He had endured so much, surely he could endure staring down a few nobles when they sought her hand or her bed…

“...there is a great deal of pressure on me, to find a suitor, and the men of the court have become entitled and impatient. Some of the guards even let themselves be paid off to give the nobles ‘privacy’...”

Her eyes grow a little haunted; she takes his hands and bows her head to them.

“...I was...nearly touched, at the last ball. And...that’s why we bought you.”

Touched. Her voice trembles at it, a distaste and a _fear_. She had her magic, which she figures was the only thing that saved her from being more than _touched_. But she wants to be able to be protected. To know someone is there.

“...I want you to guard me, Zack. I...I _need_ you to guard me…”

Her hands squeeze his, her plea uttered as she stays low, with her head pressed to his knuckles.

\-----------

His hands, rough and calloused, are brought to those dainty lips and _kissed_ , as if he's to be worshipped. It's odd to him, and he wants her to stop, to start treating him like the _mutt_ he is… But it warms him so much that he doesn't pull away.

When she specifies his duties, something cold settles in his stomach. To think that anyone would try to take advantage of her, to wound that kindly heart… It makes him sick.

But to protect her… He can do that.

Gently he moves his hands, holding hers as he kisses her knuckles in worship. In promise.

“...I will protect you, my princess. I will guard you with my life. The only man I will allow to touch you will be the man you pick to court you. I won't let anyone take advantage of a heart as pure as yours, my princess…”

He will gladly guard her. To stand by her side and ensure her safety. To save her life and pride as she has done for him. To allow the princess to keep her purity and love for whomever she chooses as a prince consort one day.

He bows his head to her, the closest to a bow he can manage.

“...I swear it on my life, to protect you…”

\---------

She cups his face, when he finishes kissing her hands, when he finishes pledging his loyalty to her. She climbs onto his thighs, settling into his lap so she can get _close_.

“...I hope to earn your loyalty,” she whispers, stroking his lips with her thumbs, “...I hope to earn your trust as well. I’ll do everything I can, Zack...I want you to be my guard but I also want you to be my _friend_.”

She slowly slips away when the jeweler comes in, smiling softly when a pair of black silk pants are laid on a nearby table. 

“...I swear I’ll protect you too,” she whispers, “...I won’t let them toy with you or hurt you. You’re mine now. Only mine. The only orders you obey are those of mine and my mother’s.”

The jeweler comes with a far smaller looking needle, a tray where she lays it over the flame to ensure _purity_. Aerith takes out her left earring, a small diamond stud, and sets it on the tray. 

“...he’s nervous...be gentle, please.”

She stands slowly, stepping behind Zack to brush his hair away from his ear. Her fingers tug softly on the lobe.

“...like a pinprick,” she whispers softly, “...it’ll be over fast. And then you’ll be mine officially.”

The jeweler takes the needle and the stud, with hands far more gentle than the slavemaster when Aerith reminds her to touch Zack as though she’s touching _Aerith_. The old woman gently turns his head so she can see, and within a few short seconds, he’s pierced, marked with her jewel.

\-----------

He's surprised when she moves onto his lap, but he doesn't dare touch her. The proximity is usually saved for lovers, and that thought makes him blush as he stammers his loyalty again.

“I… I already trust you, my lady. You've been nothing but kind to me, and you've defended me… I will obey whatever you ask. You… You have my unwavering loyalty, princess.”

He will never let anyone ruin the love she has within her. He will guard her with his life, without fail. And she will do the same for him. As a _friend_ would.

He smiles for the first time, warm and _thankful_.

“Thank you… for all you've done, my lady.”

But she pulls away, the old jeweler entering. He watches the pants be laid out, the silver tray over the fire that had warmed his bath. Black silk, and the princess's own diamond earring…

Both worth _far_ more than he is.

But he moves willingly when Aerith moves his head, her fingers soft and warm in his hair. The piercing is quick, the pain nothing but a warm sting as the stud is secured in place.

And now he is hers. _Officially_. Perhaps he isn't worth it, not at all, but Aerith seems to think he is… So why should he worry about others?

“...Thank you, my lady.”

\----------

Aerith’s fingers brush over the stud, stroking his ear gently. Her fingers trace patterns along his neck as she thanks the jeweler.

“...that’ll do in place of a collar, but I’ll have a nice one made for the times you must wear one…”

Her fingers trace his bruised throat.

“....one with a soft lining, and I’ll never fasten it tight….”

Her hand cups his jaw, gazing down at him with such a warm affection. For a moment she loses herself in his eyes, stroking his skin, still seeing the remnants of that smile across his lips. She wants to see more.

“...it’s almost time for supper. We’ll dine alone…”

She reaches for the silken pants.

“...here. It’ll feel so nice to be in clothes…”

\---------

Those green eyes are _hypnotizing_ as she gazes at him, those manicured fingers touching him with fascination. But oh how he wants to touch back. To curl his fingers through her hair, to cup her face, to pledge undying _allegiance_ to her.

He cranes his neck so she might see it better as she traces stark bruises, some fresher than others. From being strung up and gagged on his collar, from being pulled around. They're sore, incredibly so, but when she mentions another collar…

She would never be cruel to him, but he _is_ still no more than a dog. A guard dog, for the princess to train.

But she mentions food, mentions them dining _alone_. He wonders if it's set up to be a test of his loyalty, but when he's given _pants…_ he can't find a reason to not trust her.

“Thank you, my lady,” he breathes again, standing and gently taking the pants, quickly pulling them on. He fastens them above his hips, to keep the waistband from digging into his brand.

And he waits, waits for her to lead him with a look of _submission._

_You own me now. Tell me what you wish me to do._

_\---------_

Her hand finds his, taking hold of it and threading her fingers in his. She licks her lips briefly and takes him from the slaves’ chambers, a breath escaping her with relief as they get away from there. 

“...you’ll have to take it easy,” she whispers, “...since they’ve been starving you. We’ll have to be gentle to shift your diet. It’ll be tempting not to eat your fill, but you’ll have to be careful.”

Up a winding staircase, she still holds his hand, wanting to keep him _close_. 

“...but I’ll make sure you have food often. And here, my love, you don’t have to earn it.”

She glances back at him to make that point clear, her eyes soft.

She takes a key from around her neck to unlock her door, drawing Zack in. It’s a small sitting-room, a door to a bedroom beyond. She has a small desk, a table and several soft chairs and cushions. But something catches her eye, a mat laid down in front of the fireplace. It’s thin, with one blanket laid over it. 

_His bed._

Most arrangements for his “sleeping” usually involved him being chained out in the cold, no better than an animal. Some kinder masters let him sleep in the barn, where he could rest amongst the straw and hay….

\----------

He holds her cape about his shoulders, his other hand held tightly in hers. He keeps his eyes there, where his large hand threatens to cover hers. It’s not the hold a master has on a slave, but one of a _friend_ , leading him somewhere better…

As soon as they leave the slavemaster’s area, his panic vanishes.

He knows he’ll have to watch his diet. To not eat too much, too fast. Perhaps he’ll be permitted soup for his first meal, maybe crust of bread to dab in the broth. Even so, it's a welcome offer, and he gently squeezes her hand in thanks.

“I understand, princess.”

He watches as she brings a key from around her neck, and that cold ball of defense throbs. She cannot even trust the guards to ensure no one will enter her chambers…

He follows her in, taking a moment to observe his surroundings. Nothing but cushions, tapestries decorating the walls, a window overlooking the rose garden. It's pleasant, but when he looks at the low burning fire, he finds where he will be permitted to stay.

It is still better than his previous beds. Bare floors, crammed tight with other slaves. Chained to a wall and forced to hang, only sleeping when he passed out from exhaustion.

A small mat and a blanket in front of the fire is more than enough.

Gently, he pulls his hand from hers, shutting the door behind them. He steps over to the fireplace, training pushing him to crouch and poke at the fire, adding another log from a cabinet beside the stone mantle.

“Are you cold, my lady?”

He begins to remove her cloak, to return it if she desires.

\--------

She is a little chilled, she admits, the fact that he would bend low to _immediately_ care and tend to her needs sets her mind at ease. She steps forward to rest a hand against his back, to take back her cloak and exchange it about his shoulders for a thicker, warmer afghan…

Her fingers trace patterns along his back, threading through his hair in an attempt to loosen it, to let it dry in the warm air from the fire. She leaves for but a moment, returning with a brush to begin to comb out his dark hair.

“...it’s matted,” she whispers softly, using utmost patience and gentleness to loosen the tangles, “...from where they would grab you, I assume…”

Her fingers brush his neck as she brings over a chair, to sit behind him and work out the tangles. 

“...thank you,” she whispers when he finishes with the fire, stroking along his back in a brief, gentle scratch, “...you’re so sweet…”

When the matte submits, leaving nothing but his soft hair in the wake, she draws his head to rest against her thigh, smoothing her fingers along his temple.

“...you can talk to me,” she whispers, “...I’d like that. I’d like to know about you, Zack…”

\-------

He pulls the afghan around his shoulders with another whisper of thanks, shifting to settle on his mat as she leaves, using the thin blanket there as a secondary cushion. He lets the heat of the fire warm him, casting his face in yellows and oranges.

When she begins to brush his mane, working through the matted knots with _such_ care. And when the knot at the back of his head is loosened, he feels _better_ , letting out a comfortable sigh as he's permitted to rest his head on her lap.

His previous masters never gave him the right to talk. Anything other than “yes sir” or “thank you sir” was quickly punished with pain. A lashing, an open palm across his face, a tighter collar to cut off his air.

So it takes him a moment. He isn't even sure what to say.

“...you are extremely kind,” he says softly, nuzzling against the warmth of her lap. The softness of her gown. “I… I apologize, but there… Isn't much to tell, my lady.”

He had been sold to slavery as a child, in hopes that he would become paid off and return home a free man. To give money to his parents, suffering in their poverty…

“I'm… just a slave. I have been for quite some time.”

\---------

She strokes his jaw, a sweet, soft motion as she watches him get comfortable, feeling him nuzzling close and relaxing. Her fingers reach for his neck, massaging those tired muscles gently…

“...such suffering you have endured,” she whispers softly, “...I...I saw it, when I was with you at the market. A few glimpses in your eyes…”

Her hand slides over his temple, brushing his hair back.

“...the cruelty shown towards slaves is deplorable. I...I want to change it…”

Her thumb strokes his neck, down to his shoulder, slipping between the afghan and his bare flesh. She feels the raised bumps of his scars, exploring them as part of him rather than as something marring him.

“...and even after such cruelty, you are yet gentle…”

\---------

He leans into her touches, a soft sound almost like a _whimper_ in his throat as she speaks. As her hands card through his hair, rubbing at his neck and down his back, his body moving to accept her touches. Her hands are so soft against his scars, feeling them as if she’s trying to memorize…

“...Perhaps, one day, you can,” he says softly, relaxing to allow his eyes to close.

“We… slaves are nothing but property. If we have problems, if we break… we’re

replaced. I… I had so many masters, but I’ve never been able to please them all.”

He turns his head to look up at her, to find her hand and kiss her knuckles again.

“I don’t want to fail you, princess. I won’t. You’re so kind,

so warm… I can’t imagine anyone harming you. I’ll never

let anyone have the chance to do it.”

“You have protected me… You’ve saved me. I owe you my life. I owe you the kindness you’ve shown me.”

He will protect her. He will be her loyal guard dog. Never let _anyone_ hurt her.

\-------

“...you sweet thing,” she exclaims softly, near _mournfully_ when he speaks, watching his eyes slip shut. She offers her hand freely for him to kiss, stroking her knuckles against his jaw. 

“Their displeasure wasn’t because of anything you could help…”

Her fingers bury into his mane, trying to find a soft spot to scratch, a place that will feel _good_. She wants to offer him pleasure.

“...you seem very willing, and very submissive. Such a gentle man…”

She tries down, between his shoulder blades after assuring herself there’s no wound there, giving his back a little _scratch_ where it would be difficult for him to reach. 

“I’m already in love, I can tell you that. I know you’ve been treated as though you’re disposable, but I promise, I will _never_ throw you away. I’ve known you for such a small amount of time and yet you are _precious_ to me.”

\--------

The way she strokes him, scratches him, makes him sigh, tenses muscles melting at the attention. Her words soothe him even further, making a small noise in response to her calling him _gentle_ …

But it’s her confession of _love_ that gets him to reopen his eyes, wide and wondrous up

at her. He knows she isn’t lying, isn’t trying to fool him into dropping his guard. His eyes

are even _watering_ , staring up at her as if she’s just proclaimed him a king.

“You…”

He swallows, thickly. 

“I don’t deserve such strong affection, princess,” he says softly, voice _breaking_.

“I’m… a slave to you. A tool for you to use as you see fit. A… guard.” And he’s

_scarred_ , bruised, ruined… _Ugly_.

“There… are other men out there, worthy of your love. Please, my lady, don’t… waste it on me…”

She’s an _angel_. She must be.

\---------

She would laugh, but he’s _crying_ , his voice broken. She cups his face in her hands, trying to _hug_ him, trying to express a gentleness and a love to offer him _assurance_.

“Zack…” she whispers, feeling her own eyes flood at his voice. “...love isn’t...something that can be wasted. And even if it were, I don’t see you as a tool...I don’t see you as a slave.”

A person, shy and broken, beaten into the lowest rung of society. 

“...I waste nothing, giving you love. That’s the thing about love...you give it...and somehow more comes _back,_ both from within and outward.”

She strokes the corner of his mouth softly, then lifts her fingers to stroke under his eyes, as though wiping up his tears.

“...it could have been me, were I born to another. A mother that couldn’t afford to feed me...it could have been me, being whipped for not being quick enough with a noble’s meal…”

She’s seen the poor slave girls. And she tries, as much as possible to _stop_ it. 

“...I won’t treat you like an animal. I don’t treat anyone like that...all humans deserve love and mercy...all the more so for the ones who are innocent.”

\----------

She’s so kind, so _warm_ , that he could _sob_.

If there was ever a master who would let him

return to his parents… This will be the one.

He closes his eyes again, tears clumping his lashes together. Her fingers wipe his tears,

stroking the bruise on his mouth from being bridled like a _beast_ …

“You’re so kind,” he repeats, daring to raise his hand to stroke at her arm. “You… you’re an angel.” An angel, a _blessing_ granted to him despite his sins. Despite his _status_. She loves him, adores him, and he can feel his shattered heart stitching itself back together for her.

He leans back, threading his fingers with hers and stroking her knuckles, _worshipping_  

her smooth, perfect skin…

“I… think I love you as well. You’re just as beautiful as the rumors, and twice as kind…”

But whether or not she loves him, a romance between a master and a slave…

He will be her friend.

He will guard her.

And he will _love_ her.

\---------------

She _does_ laugh, a faint sweet giggle as she threads her fingers in his, still working his neck and scalp with a soft scratch.

“See? Already I have my love back in kind. There is no waste, sweetheart…”

Her brow furrows a bit though, when she strokes the corner of his mouth, when she sees the bruising there…

“...my god...did they...bridle you…?”

It’s faint, but she’s seen the bruises before, slaves dragged into her mother’s court to be _punished_ for escaping. More often than not they bear this bruise set, the cruelty of such labor more than most can bear. She strokes his jaw, lifting his head to look more _carefully_.

“You poor thing...you poor _sweet_ thing…”

\----------

He’s a bit self conscious when she notices the bruises, when he’s moved so she can _see_.

Bridled, forced to drag plows through the fields until he collapsed. And then he would have 

been gathered up, chained and _beaten_ for his disobeyment. For not completing his task. 

He would be so beaten, so _exhausted,_ that he would lay bonelessly on the floor. But then

he would be forced up, dragged by his hair or a chain around his neck, and the whole thing would start all over again…

“Y-yes, my lady,” he stammers, to answer her question. Perhaps _now_ she’ll see 

him as a beast, as nothing more than _muscle_.

But her words are soft, such sympathy and _pain_ in those beautiful green eyes…

He will never be bridled again, if she has a say in it.

\---------

“You poor thing,” she repeats, tears flooding and spilling down her cheeks as she imagines the same treatment for her sweetheart that she’s seen in the court…

Trembling slaves, collapsed with exhaustion, furious masters demanding their blood be spilt as an example. A permit to kill their slave in _public_ …

She slides from the chair, to embrace Zack, her arms wrapping around his strong shoulders. 

“Th-they bring in escaped slaves for punishment, and they...they always have bridle marks. They look so exhausted, as though they’d rather take the death sentence than to submit to their labor. It’s awful, the ones that have come through I’ve managed to take away, to send somewhere _kinder_ but...b-but I fear the damage to their souls is too great to heal….”

Her head rests against his, fingers buried in his hair as she _holds_ him.

“...my poor sweet Zack…”

\---------

She slides from her chair, wraps his arms around him…

He dares to wrap an arm around her waist as he’s pulled close. He rests his head on her 

shoulder. And then he _cries_. He lets her see all the broken pieces of himself, see how _ugly_  

he really is. He allows himself this moment of weakness, this moment of _relief_.

She is never going to hurt him.

She is never going to put him down.

Somehow, some _way_ , his soul has survived. It’s bruised, broken, but still _there_. He can heal, especially with Aerith as his mistress. He can heal, serve his life as a personal guard to the 

princess until she finds a prince consort to do his job. Perhaps he’ll be reduced back to a labor slave, working at the castle, or perhaps she’ll grant him payment for his debt and he’ll be able to go back to his parents, to give them a better life after so many years…

He sniffs, pulling back and wiping the blanket at her shoulder to dab at the dampness

left by his tears.

“Thank you… You’ve saved me, my lady, and I… I _swear_ that I’ll keep you safe…”

\---------

To feel him sob against her shoulder...Aerith can’t withhold her own sobs. She clings to him, wishing the soft touch could erase the pain, to heal and ease his agony….

When he takes the blanket to dab at her shoulder, she laughs amid the tears, a soft sniffling chuckle as she takes the corner from his hand to wipe his face clean.

“...I have no doubt you will. I trust you already…”

She takes his hand to kiss, slowly standing up to stretch her back. 

“Supper should be here soon,” she whispers, moving to set the small table, to clear it off in preparation for dinner. “...how bad is your pain, Zack?”

He gaze drops to his hip, thinking of the brand, thinking of the stitches. She steps over to look at his piercing, smiling softly at it.

“...I can have them bring you a nice sedative, something that will help you sleep despite the pain. And you need sleep like that…”

She gently guides him up, sitting him in the chair and stroking his hair. 

“...and you’ve had such a rough day.”

\---------

He smiles as his face is wiped, as she laughs… She’s so beautiful, he stares for a moment… But then she stands, and he looks back to the fire with red ears.

It’s inappropriate of him to be staring.

The offer of food is enough to draw him to his feet, though her assistance is… appreciated. He keeps his back hunched, to avoid his skin pulling on the stitches, favoring his right side as the brand _aches_ and stings.

“A… sedative would be nice. Thank you, princess.”

He’s in _agony_ , though he’s been through so much pain that he can withstand it. For a sedative, for something to allow him to sleep without pain… 

He sits at the small table, frowning a bit as _she_ sets the table.

“I… can clean up.”

He can do that much for her, at least. He’s been nothing but a _burden_ since he got here.

\----------

She gazes at him, as she settles him at the table, her gaze _softening_ a bit. As though thoughtful…

“...I’ll get some salve too. We’ll put it on your injuries…”

She takes a hold of his head, bowing her own to press her lips into his dark mane.

“...not at all, though. I want you to rest. Your job is to _recover_.”

It’s several minutes, though...and it’s clear from Aerith’s expression that they are _late_ with the meal. And when the knock comes, she’s quick to open the door, a slave girl half trembling holding the tray.

She starts to say something, a whimpered excuse about something, but Aerith takes hold of the tray, setting it on the table. She kneels down and holds the young girl’s hands in her own. 

“...You’re alright. You’re alright….just a moment.”

The princess rises to her desk, writing something quickly. And then she stamps it with wax and her seal, kneeling back down.

“...there you are. It’s going to be alright. They won’t beat you now....come back when you’re done with your rounds, I’ll make sure it’ll be alright.”

The young slave half falls on Aerith to hug her, whimpering out a string of desperate _thank yous_ and wibbled apologies. And Aerith holds her until she settles.

\---------

Zack sighs as she kisses his head, nuzzling against her like a pup searching for warmth. But as they wait, as Aerith glances towards the door almost _nervously_ , he realizes that their meal must be late.

He stands when she hurries to open the door, ready to guard her if it’s an intruder.

But it’s just a young girl, trembling so hard that the silverware _clatters_.

He fears that she’ll be struck, and he sees those fears in her eyes as well.

But Aerith writes a note, stamps wax with her ring, sends it off to the girl. A

pardon, perhaps. To spare her punishment. 

And when the girl near _collapses_ to hug her, a smile twitches at the corners of his lips. She’s made sure the girl won’t be beat, invited her back later once her job is done. An act of kindness, immeasurable to a slave.

He steps closer, though silently, as if this is a moment he should not interrupt. When the girl pulls her face from Aerith’s silken gown, Zack smiles at her, a warm _understanding_ in his eyes.

“She… she’s an angel, isn’t she?” he asks, _proud_ that he can call this princess

his mistress. That he is now a part of such selfless _kindness_.

\-------

Aerith flushes _dark_ , glancing back at Zack with such an expression of _thankfulness_ , gratitude for such kind, sweet words. Her fingers are still buried in the slave girl’s hair, smoothing back from that face.

“...this is for the whole staff, alright? If anyone is upset about their dinner, it is to be blamed on me. Tell them I was selfish, I had requests for special treatment. Make sure the kitchen mistress is not overworked, alright?”

If ever there was one to be strung out over the coals, it would be that woman. Where most kitchen mistresses are portly women, she is terribly thin, too stressed to eat most evenings for fear that she’s done something wrong. And anything Aerith can do to protect her...she will.

The girl nods to Zack’s question, an eager nod, still mopping up her tears. “Th-thank you, my mistress, thank you so _so_ much…”

She’s quick to leave, and Aerith watches her go, as though watching her own daughter depart. And then she lets out a sigh, slowly shutting the door.

“...the kitchen staff are always the worst treated in this castle,” she whispers, serving Zack half of everything on the generously laid out tray, “...nobles quickly lose courteousness when they believe their meals are being withheld…”

She shakes her head.

“The poor mistress barely has enough time to make food for everyone, and she does her best to ensure the children working with her are fed. I always have the servant that brings me my supper return so that I can send a pot of tea and some fresh fruits down...it’s not much of a supper, but it’s something I can do…”

\-----------

He smiles warmly as the young girl leaves, slowly returning to his seat. Aerith is more than generous with his serving. But she’s speaking, leaving him no room to deny it, and her sympathy for the kitchen mistress…

She has so much _love_ in her…

“I… could assist in the kitchens,” he offers, though that would take him away from her side. “Perhaps… while you’re in court. Or somewhere I can’t follow…”

Her charity is _contagious_. Though he also knows how _hard_ it is, to feed hungry, demanding mouths. He worked in kitchens, briefly, before he was sentenced out to the fields for plowing. A better use of his _clumsiness_.

He lifts his fork, dipping it into his baked potato to create a divet for corn. To put his meal 

inside of it, so he can eat it faster. Get enough protein before the time for eating is over.

(He’s far too used to food being snatched away because he took too long to _chew_.)

“You care so much for them… It’s no wonder you’re so loved.”

\--------

She watches Zack eat _quickly_ , wanting to stop him but at the same time...she knows it’s something he must learn on his own. He must learn by _trust_ that she won’t take his food from him, that it’s alright.

So instead, she matches him, mimicking his actions and eating similarly. 

“...Sometimes I sneak to the kitchens to help. Tomorrow court isn’t until evening, so I’ll probably head down when I wake up. But I want you to take it easy…”

Her hand comes to rest on his forearm, no longer able to stand watching Zack eat his food as though the devil himself would take it from him. 

“...I _need_ you to take it easy…”

She pours him some wine, taking a small vial of something and dropping it into the dark liquid. 

“...this will help with the pain. The sedative I’ll give you before we sleep…”

She squeezes his hand gently.

“...again, I just...it could have been me. And when I think about how easily it could have been me...it only make sense to care for those who cannot choose their jobs.”

\----------

When she mirrors his eating, when that hand touches him, he realizes what he’s doing. That he’s falling to habit, that there’s no _need_ to rush.

Their dinner had been tardy, and she had excused the girl with a _hug_.

She will not take his meal from him. She is far too kind for such a thing.

He whispers a soft apology, eating much slower. He watches her pour him _wine_ , eyes wide at such a luxury. Though she adds the sedative to it, to relax him even further. A kindness.

So _much_ kindness…

He wants to join her in the kitchen in the morning. He wants to _help_ , to keep the poor kitchen mistress from shouldering punishment. And perhaps, while Aerith is in court, he can return to aid the kitchen in their clean-up.

He squeezes back, brushing his thumb along her finger.

“Thank you, again, my lady… I’m sorry if I… seem wary. It’s hard to believe I’m really here…”

Here, with the princess, in her castle. With a woman that would work herself to the bone

to assure that a slave was not harmed.

\--------

She lifts his hand, to smooth her lips over his knuckles, to assure him a gentle _kiss_. To let him know she is there, and she is not leaving.

“...it must be a shock,” she whispers, “...I...I saw it in your eyes. You were...going to die, if I hadn’t picked you…”

She looks so _mournful_ , pulling her hand to her breast. Not just a feeling, but an _image_ , the image of this slave being taken out to a tree, hanged and left…

She hiccups faintly.

“...I’ve seen the way slaves are discarded,” she whispers, both hands cupped over her heart, “...a-and to think, if I...if I hadn’t seen you…”

Her heart trembles. 

\-------

He would be dead by now, or perhaps _wishing_ he was, if she had picked another.

...He doesn’t want to think about what’s become of the _others_.

He reaches over to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear, though his hand doesn’t linger, in case he isn’t welcome. He’s been owned by so many _cruel_ masters that he isn’t sure how to adjust to a master so kind. He only wants to serve her, to do what she’s asked of him. To _succeed_ , for once, in an order.

“Shhh… I’m alright. I have you to thank for it, my lady.”

But his hand pulls back, fingers on the stem of his wine glass. It’s growing dark outside, and if they are to go to the kitchens in the morning… He should rest soon.

“...Would you like me to clean up, princess?”

Perhaps to help her prepare for bed, to return dirtied dishes to the kitchen, fetch her nightdress.

\------------

The brush of his fingers against her hair makes her look up, and for the brief moment he’s close, she chases after the touch, as though she wishes to commit her cheek to his palm as he did with her.

But it’s gone, and she will not force it, shyly looking down at her cleaned plate when he offers to clean. 

“There’s...there’s a kettle by the fire, if you...if you could rinse it for me, fill it with water...I would be most grateful.”

A request, worded as she would to an equal. She begins to stack the plates, to lay them carefully on the tray. And when she’s finished with that simple task, she takes a gentle hold of his wrist.

“...come with me.”

She takes him out her balcony, following the stairs down to her private garden. She selects a knife, looking up and down the hedges before she finds several blossoms, clipping them quickly. A few smaller sprigs as well, anything that looks nice. And then from an apple tree, she picks a few ripe apples, handing them gently to Zack when she doesn’t have the arms for any more.

“...it’s closed off, back here. If you ever want to rest somewhere outside...somewhere safe, it is...a good place to be,” she whispers softly, gazing at the sunset. “...if you’re ever hungry, and need a snack, the apple tree is yours.”

She leads him back inside, making a small bouquet to put in a vase. The left over flowers she weaves quickly.

\-----------

He does as he’s asked, taking the kettle off the fire and washing it clean in the bathroom before he fills it, setting it back over the fire. He stokes the coals and flames a bit, to encourage the water to boil.

When he’s led outside, he takes his time to look around, helping her carry the flowers and

apples. It’s pleasant out here, sweet-smelling with blossoms and fruit. He can hear birds 

giving their final calls before dark, fluttering their wings. He watches a few of them fly over, 

disappearing past the castle walls.

He would like to have that freedom, someday. His own wings.

He makes a small noise of understanding, of thanks, when she informs him the purpose of this garden. He follows her back in, gently laying the apples and flowers that he’s carried onto the table, watching her curiously.

“...Is this for that girl, my lady?”

The girl that had come in earlier, trembling and _hugging_ …

“The blossoms… are very beautiful.”

\-----------

“The tea is for the kitchen mistress, but I’m making a little flower crown for her…”

She weaves it nicely, something that can be hung when the day is done, to preserve. 

“...and a few apples for them both…”

She begins to crush up some leaves from a jar, laying them in netting and letting them steep in the water.

She sets the kettle down near the hearth when it’s all done, the vase prepared, the little grown as well. 

“...you like the blossoms?” she asks softly, taking one spare flower and lifting her hand to stroke Zack’s temple. The blossom she cut too short for the vase, and it’s too heavy for a small crown. But enough to tuck into thick locks…

She works it into his hair, gently weaving it behind his ear.

“There...that looks lovely.”

She can only really reach his chest when he stands, so she kisses his heart. 

\--------

He can tell by the way she works that this is nothing new. He wonders if she does this every night, before the servants return for her dinner dishes…

He nods when she asks, ducking his head to allow the flower, stripped of its thorns, is 

tucked into his hair. He blushes a little, the scent soothing him. He straightens up, and

when she kisses the bare skin over his heart… He turns a little pink.

“Thank you, princess,” he whispers, daring again to reach for her, to smooth the

hair that the outside wind has tossed. He pets it down to lay flat, stroking a few 

flyaway hairs back behind her ear, where her stud has been removed and placed 

in his… 

He lets his hand drop, fingers stroking the petals of the flowers in the vase. “...Do you like flowers?” She must, if she has her own _garden_ … And for someone as caring as she… it makes sense.

\-------------

This time...she doesn’t let him get away, when his hand lifts to her hair. Gently, she lifts her own hand, to hold his fingers still and press her lips against his wrist. She knows it must be sore and chaffed from so long left in shackles, so she makes sure the touch is _gentle_ , but she doesn’t make it brief. She wants him to know affection is _alright_ here.

“I do…” she whispers, finally letting his hand down, “...Momma calls me her flower girl…”

Still yet do her eyes remain on Zack, reaching shyly to take hold of his hand again. 

“...they’re very peaceful. Relaxing...sometimes I hide slaves in the gardens, tell those that would punish them I was having them harvest the apple tree. Anything to keep them from being beaten or hurt…”

But there’s other reasons too…

“...and sometimes...when….when it’s too much... _I_ hide there.”

She hid there, after the noble had gotten too close. She hid there, behind her roses, behind the peonies...trembling and _frightened_ but soothed by her flowers. They would keep her safe.

\----------

He lets her kiss his wrist, her affections so warm and _honest_. He tilts his hand, to allow his fingers to trace her jaw as she speaks, and he sees the dark _fear_ there when she mentions it being too much.

“You have me now,” he says quietly, gathering the courage to cup her cheek fully.

“When it gets too much, I’ll be here, my lady. I’ll protect you, and I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep your rose garden a sanctuary, and I will not allow anyone to harm you…”

He can only _imagine_ her pressure. She’s not a child anymore, and she’s going to need to 

wed. Her mother is not that old, of course, but _anything_ could happen. If she were to so

suddenly be thrust to the throne, with no husband, no heir…

But she will pick her suitor. Nobles forcing their way will not lay a hand on her.

“I promise you, princess…”

And he ducks his head, placing a protective kiss to the top of her head.

\-----------

Aerith sighs, burying her face into his palm, lining it with soft kisses. There’s not a touch of hesitancy to his gentle contact. She wants it. She wants _him_. 

“Thank you…” she breathes, her voice a little shaky.

She lifts a hand to his, to keep it pressed to her cheek. And then she makes a little noise, faint and soft, when Zack kisses the top of her head.

“Zack…” she whispers, her voice soft but earnest, “...I know...I know it maybe uncomfortable for you...but...would you consider calling me Aerith…?”

Her fingers thread in his, trying to keep him held to her cheek.

“...I don’t hear my name enough. I want to hear my name…”

She nuzzles his hand again, offering another kiss.

“...princess and highness will be all you can call me in company, but...here at least…”

She looks up, a gentle plea in those eyes.

\------------

He’s surprised when she asks him to call her by name, though he doesn’t pull away. He threads his fingers with hers, knuckle brushing her cheek at the movement.

“...Of course, Aerith.”

It feels odd, to speak the name of his master. So often he had been beaten for it-- Some masters, he didn’t know the names of. And now Aerith… 

He smiles warmly, his thumb briefly tracing her lips, as if to return the kiss. As if to wonder

what it would feel like if those lips touched his…

“I like calling you Aerith. It’s… a beautiful name. Fits you.”

\----------------

She flushes a little in reply to his compliments, and when his thumb traces her lips...she parts them. An invitation, though a subtle one. A sign that she’s open and affectionate, that, perhaps, if he dared...he would be met with pleasure, not pain.

She licks her lips when he pulls back, a brief, instinctual sweep of her lips. 

“...just like I like calling you Zack…”

She reaches up to stroke his jaw, her fingers sliding down to the ribbon still bound about his neck.

“...a strong name. A handsome name. It fits you….”

She draws a deep breath, closing her eyes. Slowly she leans forward, careful not to press too much weight...but…

She lays her head to his chest. 

\-----------

He could kiss her. He sees the open invitation in the way her lips part, the way her eyes are nothing but calm and open…

But the moment passes and her head rests on his chest.

He, too, blushes at the compliment. One arm wraps around her waist, his other hand curling into her hair. He holds her close, allowing him to trust her. To love her.

He startles when he hears a knock on her door, letting go of her as if he'll be hanged in the spot for touching her.

But he's alert, watching the door. It's likely the girl again, but… He's suspicious.

“...Would you like me to get the door?”

\--------

Her hand rests on his chest when she hears the knock, similarly startled, though she gives him a soft smile. The rap is so gentle, so timid…

“...it’s just her, sweetheart. No threat.”

She presses a kiss to the center of his chest again, gathering the kettle and the bouquet.

She opens the door, inviting the young maiden in. She hands her a big, juicy apple, kneeling down by the fire to lay the wreath in soft dark blond locks…

“...Take the kettle to your mistress, please, but tell her you’re invited to have some tea as well. Did my note work?”

The girl nods, though she glances back to Zack with shy, but curious eyes. 

“...Miss Tifa says you saved our skins,” she whispers, with a bow and a look of gratitude. And she seems to chew on something for a while...then…

“...who is he?”

Aerith chuckles, a soft delighted chuckle. 

“...this is Zack, sweetheart. He’s my guard and my friend.”

She looks up at Zack with a soft look.

“...And this little one...Emily, right?”

She knows all the names of the kitchen staff. Tifa talks about them as though they were her own blood. 

The girl nods eagerly.

\-----------

He relaxes when it does turn out to be the girl, timid but _smiling_ as she's given treats and a flower crown upon her head.

He assumes Miss Tifa is the kitchen mistress, the one Aerith had spoken of so kindly. 

But then she asks who _he_ is, and he's surprised for a moment at the introduction. Nowhere in her description does she say _slave_.

But he smiles at the girl, leaning down to straighten the crown about her head.

“It's nice to meet you, Emily.”

He's a little impressed that she knows the girl's name. How many slaves must be in this castle? Does she know all of them?

“...I'm glad you're okay,” he adds softly. Thankful.

\--------

The little girl pauses, looking up at Zack’s hand cautiously yet _curiously_. She watches him adjust the crown, bowing her head to make it easier…

“...thank you,” she whispers, looking up at him a little shyly. But her head tilts a little. “...is he a knight?”

Aerith grins a little, resting a hand on Zack’s arm.

“Honorary Knight.”

Emily grins in reply, lifting the apple to her mouth to take a bite.

“...he sure looks strong enough.”

Aerith wraps an arm around Zack’s waist, careful not to brush near his fresh brand.

“He is _very_ strong. And very loyal.”

She chews on her apple quietly, looking at the fire and letting out a soft relieved _sigh_. 

\--------

A knight.

His father had carved him a wooden sword, a matching set from the same log. They would duel, he'd pretend to rescue the girl next door from a chicken that was a dragon. He grew up to take swordsmanship more seriously, to promise his parents that he would become a knight and get them rooms in the castle. That he would pay off his debt and return home on a white steed, flying colors of the kingdom and wearing shining armor.

Honorary knight.

His chest _aches._

He's strong enough to be a knight. Loyal enough. He knows his way with a sword, if he could wield one again. He could be a knight.

Her arm wraps around him but he does not smile. He's five years old with a wooden sword. Sir Zack Fair.

He stares at the threads in the afghan he's still got around his shoulders.

\------

There’s a few moments of discourse, Aerith allowing the girl to sit and rest, but then she leaves, taking the kettle, apples and flowers. And as Aerith closes the door, she knows there’s a shift in her guard’s demeanor. Something about knighthood...has undone something inside him.

“...I wasn’t lying, you know. Bodyguard to the princess grants you an honorary knighthood. When you guard me in public, you will be dressed as one.”

Her gaze turns to his, reaching to softly stroke his hand. 

“...you will take an oath, when you are stronger. You’ll kneel before the throne and pledge fealty to my mother and to myself, and you’ll be granted a blade…”

Her hand gently buries into his afghan. She’s worried now.

“...please...what is it…?”

\--------

He will be a knight.

But still a slave. He'll just be masked as a knight, take an oath… Given a blade, but no freedom. 

He should be happy.

He sighs as she touches him, as she strokes his hand. He tries to bury it, to bury the raw _nostalgia_ …

He wonders how his parents are.

“I… always wanted to be a knight,” he whispers, voice weak and far away. “...Promised my parents that I would be one. That I'd show up, without my debt, as a knight. I'd get them a house that doesn't have holes in the floors and the roof. I'd… be free.”

He inhales. He doesn't cry, but he's just… blank. Lost.

“I… don't mean to offend. I appreciate everything you've done, and will do, but…”

His eyes are so, so far away.

“...Just homesick, I guess.”

\------

Her heart breaks, though the keener side of the princess’ mind sharpens. He was not listed as a debt slave. Her eyes narrow at the thought of it, that they had thrown away his record, the debt...just to take him down that last notch. Not a debt slave. A slave by birth, with no hope of earning freedom save by a kind hand.

“...I never wanted to keep you as a slave, Zack…” she whispers softly, “...my hope was that I could legally free you. But if you’re a debt slave…”

She reaches for his cheek, trying to turn him towards her.

“They have the records here. I’ll see to it. If you’ve been mistreated as a debt slave, there’s...there’s more I can do for you…”

But that seems to be the lesser of the problems.

Her voice is gentle.

“...Zack….? Do you want to go home…?”

Obviously. Obviously he does. But in her voice is an _offer_. 

“I can do that for you. I...visit villages often, see what I can do to keep them out of debt slavery. Make sure they have enough food…”

Both hands rest on his hips. Her head comes to lay against his breast.

“...Where were you born…?”

\--------

She wants to free him. To make him a knight, with no small print. To be free to return home on holiday…

He's been away for nine years… Maybe ten. He's lost count.

He wants to go home. 

But he doesn't want to see his parents.

Not now, when he's a slave. Not now, when he's done nothing to make them proud. Maybe later… When he's free. When he's a knight.

“Gongaga,” he whispers into her hair. He holds her close, a weak huff of a laugh expelling his lungs.

“Backwater town… Dried up mines. Nothing out there.”

\--------

She squeezes his hands. Closes her eyes. Hums softly in understanding.

“...we’ll look at your records tomorrow...alright? We’ll see how long it’ll take to pay off your debt…”

She slowly pulls back. 

“....I want to bathe…” she whispers softly, “...if you want, I can give you your sedative now...and you can get to sleep early…”

She knows how much pain he’s in. The thought of making him remain on his feet for longer….hurts. She doesn’t want to make him hurt…

\-------

His records… He's doubtfully made a dent into the price they sold him for. He… hasn't been a very good worker.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, pulling back when she mentions a bath. When she mentions he sleep now…

“I can draw you a bath.” He wants to be useful, to work for her. To bathe her as she had him.

He is in pain, and he is exhausted, but he's been long taught to put his master's comfort before his.

“If… That's alright, Aerith. I'd like to make sure you're alright before bed.”

\--------------

She knows he has to be in so much pain...her hand settling against his hip, gazing into his eyes…

“..you have to be hurting…” she breathes, softly gazing up into his eyes, “...please, you don’t have to…”

She starts to move towards the bathroom.

“...I...I would enjoy the company, if you’re not ready to sleep yet. You...you make me feel safe…”

She starts to run the water, putting her hands in it to use magic to heat it. No need to summon servants for something she can easily do.

\----------

He's thankful that she'll at least allow him that much, though he does give her privacy as she enters the bathroom. He doesn't know about her magic, assuming she'll be taking a cold bath…

“...Would you like me to heat a pot of water for you?” He asks after a moment, when he hears her shifting her clothes off.

“I can fetch your nightclothes for you, too.”

To be of assistance. To help. It's what he's _for_.

\--------

She slides into the warm water with a sigh, drawing the screen around the tub. 

“...You can come in. Bring a cushion for yourself...alright? I don’t need anything else…”

She sinks in deeper, exhaling a soft sigh. She starts to lather her hair with a soft moan, peeking out from behind the screen to watch Zack. 

“...hi…” she purrs, leaning up to lay her arms over the lip of the tub, resting her head on them. 

\-----------

He's a bit confused when she denies both offers, but he takes a cushion from the floor to sit in the bathroom, frowning in confusion when there's steam…

Perhaps she have servants to heat her water from below.

He sits with crossed legs on his cushion, noting that he can see her silhouette on the curtain from the last light of the day that comes through the window.

And then the curtain budges and he sees her, hair wet and sticking to her bare skin.

He flushes, awkwardly looks at his hands in his lap.

“...D-does your water get heated before it's pumped?”

Small talk. He's not very good at it.

\---------

“...no, I meant what I said. I didn’t want anyone to do any extra work…”

She smiles at him, gazing at him from below soft lashes. 

“I have magic. It takes a bit of energy, but...I can do it myself, on occasion.”

She smiles a bit more broadly, laying her head down as she watches him get comfortable, despite the awkwardness. And for a moment, she considers pulling back the curtain...letting him see her fully. 

“....despite...everything else...I enjoyed bathing you earlier…” she whispers, dipping back to rinse her hair, to lather her body next. “...I know you were scared. You did so well though…”

She stretches, legs lifting and toes extending.

“I think most ‘rebellion’ that slaves show is panic...like earlier…”

Her eyes cloud over, and she peeks back out.

“....how could anyone not panic in that position…?” 

Her voice is quieted. 

“Being choked, being... _tortured_ …”

It was, technically, treatment. But they had him strung up. As though the words to tell him that they were going to stitch him shut were not worth saying.

\-------

He hears her move, looking up in surprise when she mentions that she has magic. It's been rumored that the monarchy contained witches, but…

But he looks, watches the silhouette of a slender leg raise, her head tilted back…

He almost chokes on a breath, looking down again.

“Slaves are less than human,” he whispers. “Just property. They… don't think we have emotions. We're supposed to be quiet. Do… as we're told.”

Be seen, not heard. Sometimes, not even _seen_.

“You're different… You… You care.”

He chances a peek at her again, cheeks still pink as he fights to look at her face. Only her face.

“Thank you, for that, Aerith…”

\-------

She gazes at him, a smile tugging her lips when she sees how _pink_ he is. She goes back to rest her head on the edge of the tub, eyes soft and so loving. The smile fades when she speaks.

“...I...I thought they were going to kill you in my own castle…”

Her eyes widen a little, and she lifts her hand to her eyes. “...you seemed pretty fargone in your panic, and...and I started to panic too. I was scared they’d strangle you. I was so scared they wouldn’t let you down in time…”

She reaches for him. Invites him closer. She’s seen him bare...there’s no true reason to stay hiden from him. Even so, the bubbles will provide her cover, the screen hide the rest of her. She just wants to feel him again.

“...I’m so sorry they branded you, my love…”

\--------

He swallows thickly, throat still _aching_ from being strung up. His hip is burning, his ear oddly tingling, wrists chafed and weak…

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I… I panicked.”

When her wet arm reaches for him, he moves closer with only a moment of hesitation. He leaves his cushion to sit on the rug before the tub, in reach with his back to the tub's edge.

“It's alright… It's… a sign of who I belong to. I know why they did it, and you… You couldn't have stopped that. You were already so brave, Aerith.”

\---------

She buries her fingers in his hair, warm from the bathwater. She leans over to kiss into those soft dark locks, her fingers gently stroking his neck.

Such affection...such _soft_ affection. Even with the slave girl, she really only hugged for a moment...for Zack she keeps heaping on soft touches. She’s curious about him. She wants to touch him. 

“...it’s not your fault you panicked,” she whispers softly, “...I would have too.”

She nuzzles the side of his head from behind, only letting go to rinse. And then she’s back again, nuzzling into that shoulder quietly.

“...but you’re safe now,” she whispers softly, “...no more of that.”

She sits up, gently moving his hair off his neck...beginning to massage near his neck. And with her hands being so _warm_...she cuts through the tension, focusing just up along his shoulders and neck to keep from hurting his wounds.

“...I’ve...never had a bedslave,” she whispers softly. “...I know...you told me you don’t have any training. I guess...I’m just…”

She breaks off, a little flustered.

“...would it...would it be revolting to you?”

\--------

She starts to massage his neck, wary of his darker bruises as her warm, damp fingers work his tense muscles. They ease his pain, the stiffness in his body…

But then she mentions him a bedslave, and he tenses again.

His ears are _red_ as he understands her implications.

“Y-you… You're very beautiful. And… kind. I…”

He would. He would like that.

“I… I would be willing to… try. Though I don't… know if I'll be any good, my-- ...Aerith.”

He shakes his head, staring at his feet stretched out before him.

“It wouldn't revolt me at all.”

\--------

Her hands return to his back.

Her lips press a soft kiss to the back of his neck. 

“I-it isn’t that….th-that I would be measuring you on your abilities,” she whispers, clearly a little flustered. “...I just...want to make sure I wouldn’t be forcing myself on you. If...if we did that...I’d want to be sure...you’d want it.”

Her fingers bring his hair into a tail, stroking at the underside of it, scratching the back of his neck softly.

“....it wouldn’t be you pleasing me as much as….us. T-together…”

She laughs, a very nervous, very soft laugh, pulling back to duck into the water.

“...I...I can’t even...do it...myself. So...I wouldn’t...expect you….”

She trails off, hiding behind the curtain.

\----------

The whole discussion makes him flush down to his chest. Her touch on his neck makes him shiver, but not out of chill, a small _whimper_ when she pulls away to hide in her bath.

He does not turn. He gives her privacy.

“I… Don't want you to rush, Aerith. I know that… you're under a lot of stress.”

His fingers knot into his pants, remembering what the slavemaster had said.

“A-and I'm not circumcised o-or sterile. And I… I want you to be comfortable.”

He _can't_ get her pregnant. Her, a _princess_ …

He would be killed for it.

“I… I do love you, Aerith.”

His _angel_ …

\----------

She rinses. Gets behind him again, her fingers tracing his spine before she rests her forehead to the back of his head.

“...I’m not going to mutilate you. Not for my bed.”

Her fingers stroke along his collarbone curiously, then trace his jugular upwards. 

“...to be honest, my love...I don’t want you to go through anything else. You don’t deserve it.”

She hugs him from behind, eyes slipping closed.  After a long moment, she pats his shoulder very softly.

“...the chest of drawers, right of my bed. Second drawer...bring me a night gown?”

She kisses the side of his neck and douses back into the water.

\-----------

He leans happily into her touches, reaching up to run his fingers over her knuckles.

“Thank you…”

He'll be safe. _Whole_. 

But she gives him an order, a kiss and a wet hug. He hums and stands, chancing a glance back at her before he leaves.

He finds the nightgown after a moment of searching, carrying it back draped over his arm. He knocks on the door rather than walking in, unsure if she's left her bath.

“I found a gown for you, Aerith.”

\------

She opens the door, peeking out, one hand holding a towel to her breast. She reaches for the gown in his hands, gently stroking his knuckles…

She almost wants to ask if he wants to _watch_. 

Instead she reaches up, after taking her gown, to gently take a hold of the ribbon around his neck, to very _gently_ pull him down. To kiss his chin.

“...thank you...could you turn down the covers for me? I’ll be right out.”

She shuts the door, lets the towel drop as she pulls on the soft white shift with pink trim. 

And after brushing her hair, she slips out, wanders to the bedroom.

\--------

He makes a small noise when his chin is kissed. He had… sort of been hoping it would land a little higher.

“Yes, my l-- Aerith.”

He pauses a moment outside of the door, breathing out slowly. His body is _warm_ , face still a bright _red_.

He does as he's told, however, turning back her soft linens, fluffing her pillows. He makes sure it's comfortable, and he returns to the main room to sip his sedative and settle on his mat before the fire.

When she exits, he smiles up at her, sedated wine in his hands.

“Are you ready for bed, Aerith?”

\-------

She nods, though her face _falls_ to see him curled up on that mat. She kneels down in front of him, as she had done in the market…

Her hand strokes his jaw, and she bows to kiss his forehead.

“...I’m not going to make you sleep on that awful thing,” she whispers softly, smoothing her hand back through his hair. “...as long as you’re willing to share with me.”

She gently takes hold of his hands, lifting him to his feet. She settles on the edge of her bed, peering at him from beneath soft brown lashes. 

“...bet you haven’t been in a bed in a while,” she whispers, gazing up at Zack with soft, guileless eyes. “...it’s plenty big enough for two.”

\----------

He doesn't mind where he's sleeping, curled on his mat in front of the fire. It's warm, and more comfortable than what he's used to.

But she kneels in front of him, those hands on her face. He's leaning into her touch, frowning a bit when she offers him room in her bed.

(Her hopes that his blush is not visible in the firelight)

Though after their discussion…

He reaches to stroke her wrist, smiling softly.

“...If it would be alright with you, to share your bed…”

\------

She draws him close. Locks an arm around the back of his neck, almost as though she wants to pull Zack down over herself. 

“...I’m not going to put you on the cold hard ground, with all of your injuries,” she whispers, scooting back on the fluffy spread to pull him yet _closer_. “...you need warmth….”

She gently pushes off his afghan, finally laying on her back and gazing up at him. She lets him see her _explore_ his frame, drifting from his face to neck and shoulders, chest and stomach and back up again. Her hand softly trails up a strong bicep, sorrowful at how his strength came about and yet _grateful_ all the same. Her fingers trace the muscle almost worshipfully, imagining his capability in protecting, in _defending_ her…

“....sometimes…” her voice is quiet, “...sometimes...I get nightmares. It would...it would be nice...to know someone is close.”

\------

He follows her lead to the bed, letting his weight press against the mattress, sinking it below himself. He watches her, watches the way she sizes him up…

But his hesitation softens.

He knows what it's like, to wake from a nightmare so cold and alone.

He slides under the covers beside her, though wary. He lets her touch him, eyes closing as those manicured fingers explore…

He opens his eyes, cups her cheek.

“I swear to protect you, Aerith. Even from your nightmares.”

He wants her to feel the same safety and trust she's given him. He wants her to be _comfortable_. He wants to serve her.

He lifts his head to blow out the candle.

“...Goodnight, Aerith.”

\------

She shifts away, to her side of the bed. Though her curiosity and fingers wish to continue _touching_ and exploring, she needs to let him rest. Let him have a semblance of space.

His words soothe her and she slips beneath the sheets, peering at him a few times before sleep finally takes her…

_It’s the market again. The sound of slaves, of chains, of suffering. A few are set aside, presented for select eyes…_

\------

He allows the sleep to take him, rushing up on him from the sedatives. His pain fades and he melts into the softness of her sheets, _peaceful…_

_He walks down an aisle of slaves, shivering in rags. They're weak, suffering, but he is walking, privileged. He is shopping._

_But he stops, suddenly, when he sees a woman far too beautiful tied to a pike, a bridle in her mouth, lashes from whips marring her perfect, bare body._

_“...I'll buy this one.”_

_The queen is behind him, a cold voice._

_“Of course.”_

\---------

_She trembles, wishing desperately to cover herself, but unable, the bridle bruising her mouth as she’s forced to remain up, on her knees, breasts exposed…_

_Her eyes plead with him. Begging for mercy, for kindness, a hollow desperation in the expression not sharply covered by the bridle. She trembles in the cool morning…_

_His decision is so quick it_ **_frightens_ ** _her, she knows there’s really only one thing she has left to offer…_

_Shoulders shiver in panic, getting more and more blinding when the dark figure approaches her, when the figure behind approves the sale._

\--------

_He kneels down in front of her as he notices her start to panic, nostrils flared and chest heaving. He gently reaches for her, to cup her cheek as if she's made of glass._

_“Please, don't be afraid… I know your pain. I'm going to repay you. I'll save you.”_

_She's gorgeous, despite her thinness. Despite her filthy appearance. His thumb brushes her lip, feeling the chapped skin._

_“You're beautiful. I'm going to protect you.”_

\-------

_She flinches, until his touch proves tender, and she leans closer. She whimpers when his thumb brushes her lip, the weight of her bridle and the way it forces her mouth open agonizing…_

**_...please take it off…_ **

_But he is gentle, handsome. She lets out a long, pleading moan, her numbed hands flexing against the ropes that bind her so tightly…._

_\---------_

_He reaches his hands back to the base of her skull, to unfasten the cruel bridle forcing her mouth open…_

_But they're alone, naked and scarred and shivering in a slavehouse, his hands curling into her hair as he kisses her deeply. Someone is whimpering moans, though it's unclear who, and they're naked and letting their hands roam, stumbling until Aerith's back hits a wall._

_“I love you” is gasped against her lips as Zack's hands caress her hips, his grinding against her._

_“I love you…”_

_\-------_

_The relief of the bridle dropping is so poignant, so sharp…_

_Her hands are suddenly against his arms, squeezing, begging, moans and whimpers for more spilling from her lips amid the frantic_ **_need_ ** _for Zack.._

_He grinds against her, whispering love against her lips, her back scraping raw to the wall but she doesn’t_ care _, if they don’t hurry, they’ll be caught, he’ll be taken away again._

_He breath shakes._

_“P-please--!” she hisses, desperately against his lips, “Please, I need you...I’ve missed you so much…”_

_She knows him. She’s been kept apart from him, he in the fields and her in the kitchen. They’ve glanced one another, just this one brief time, and their moment will soon end if he doesn’t_ **_hurry…_ **

_Were that they could take their time._

_“Take me,” she begs, her voice hushed and so very desperate, “...please, I need you…”_

_\---------_

_His body aches from work, from exhaustion, but she brings him alive. She reignites what fire he has left in him, and he can't let this moment go. He can't let them take her away again._

_So when she begs him, pleads for him, he doesn't hesitate. There's no bed here to lead her to, no soft sheets to take her. But he makes it as comfortable as he can, switching their places so it's him that braced against the wall, pulling her knee to his hip as he sheathes himself inside of her._

_She's warm, she's damp, she's perfect around him, but he doesn't dare move yet. He keeps a hand knotted in her hair, breathing hard and fast into her ear._

_“I love you, I love you…!”_

_\-----------_

_He turns, the gesture reflecting the love and need in his eyes. She cries, then screams, clinging to him as he sheathes himself inside her. With a sharp pant she leans against him, fingers fisting in his mane._

_"Zack! Please..."_

_She lifts her hips, letting him know to move, to take her fully. Fingers lift to his neck, to a dirty ribbon she tied and hid below his collar._

_He matches her perfectly and she writhes up, pleading for more amid the torrent of emotions. She thought he had been killed, she was so afraid..._

_"Please..." she sobs into his ear, her arms locked tight, afraid to let go, "please Zack...."_

_Tears stream down her cheeks, all the more desperate for their contact, for their embrace. More, more, because when it ends she'll be empty and alone again...._

_\-----------_

_He holds her tight, lifts her hips to bear her weight as he thrusts. He trembles, muscles near giving out from his exhaustion. But he will not let go of her. Not again._

_He thrusts fast, with need, but he's watching her for any pain. He knows she's likely been beaten, likely exhausted from her kitchen duties._

_But he loves her, he loves her so much, and his sobs match hers as he holds her closer, sobbing as that ribbon rubs his skin and he feels so close--_

He wakes with a jolt and a strangled _gasp_ , finding his hands fisted into the sheets, staring up at the ceiling.

He's _warm_ , and sweat has broken out across his brow.

And he's _aroused_.

\----------

The sharp motion disturbs his bedmate, a suffering little noise as the princess rolls over, her arms locked around her frame. She's trembling, shaking, as though someone is threatening her. As though someone is scaring her.

She whimpers as Zack jolts up, her eyes opening, though she feels painfully disoriented. 

_Where is he? Have they killed him? Please, where...._

She sits up with a soft sob, her hands grasping for her bedmate, squeezing into his pants.

"....p-please.."

\-----------

He's panting when Aerith whimpers, when she grabs for him. She's disoriented, likely waking from a nightmare. 

He quickly forgets his own discomfort, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her, drawing her to his chest.

“Shhh, Aerith… I'm here. It's okay. It was just a bad dream…”

He strokes her hair back, rubbing his hand along her spine to soothe her. To reinforce that he's really here. That she's safe…

“I'm here. I'll protect you.”

\----------

Her arms suddenly lock around his shoulders with a sharp huff of a sob, hands trembling as they bury in his neck.

"Zack..."

She's shaking more, breath coming in soft sobs.

"....I...I was scared they...they took you away..."

Took him from her, dragged him away. Killed him.

She starts to settle with a huff, to take inventory...

_....she can still feel him inside her..._

Her hand lifts to his neck, to touch his ribbon....

But it's not dirty. 

\------------

He shakes his head, holding her close. He remembers his hands on her hips, holding her as he moved inside…

“I'm here… No one took me away.”

He presses his lips to her forehead, to reassure her…

His lips on hers, so _desperate_ …

He bites his cheek, trying to push waway the heat between his legs from such an inappropriate dream…

Would she be disgusted?

\--------

She pulls his head down suddenly, taking his lips against hers and kissing him. She whimpers softly, her hands cupping his cheeks.

"....you're alright.." she whimpers, squeezing his neck softly, arching gently. "....I thought they took you away..."

Her kisses are chaste, quick and soft....

\----------

She kisses him suddenly, his eyes wide as she arches against him--

He only hesitates briefly before he gives in, arms holding her close as he returns every kiss, though his turn more _desperate_ …

But he calms, sucking _submissively_ at her lower lip as his hands brush down to her hips…

“Aerith,” he breathes, holding tighter…

He _wants_ her.

\--------

The dream begins to fade, the desperation and the hopelessness kindling into something else. She pulls back, still holding his face, gently pulling Zack down over her to gaze into his eyes, the way they’re half caught by the light of the moon. Her fingers trail over his lips, feeling the desperation...and wondering if it’s her own…

Her mother always told her that her emotions, her dreams...they had a deeper meaning than most humans. That hers often mimicked others. She wonders if that’s why she dreams so often of being a slave, since the pain is so close, the children and maids and others in the castle sleeping and dreaming the same…

She leans in for another soft kiss, pillowed in the warmth behind her. She can still feel the bridle as though it were bruising her mouth…

“...I...I dreamed we were slaves…” her voice is soft, nearly broken, “...I dreamed they...they kept us apart…”

Her fingers trail to the ribbon against his neck.

“...and I knew they would take you away again...I-I...thought you were dead…”

Her lips meet his again, softly, trying to reassure herself that Zack is _here_ , that he’s right here, and he won’t be taken away…

\--------

He allows himself to be moved, though he keeps his hips raised. He doesn't want her to know, to think less of him…

But she describes her dream, and it parallels with his. A dream that he had been back on the farm he came from, that Aerith was there with him…

“I… had the same dream…”

He _whimpers_ into the kiss, hands balancing on the mattress to keep himself stable above her.

“But it was… a dream. I'm still here.”

\-----------

She makes a faint noise, her eyes growing a touch sad, a touch _curious_. Her hand slides down, tracing over Zack’s chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath her fingertips. The touch is so gentle and so soft, loving.

“...they...they kept me in the kitchen...but...I saw you. And…”

Her hand slides back to his neck, drawing him down for another kiss. 

“...we were...both so desperate.”

Desperate for a moment of unity, despite the way it might hurt, the way both of them were so exhausted. Her hands rest against his arms, as though she might still feel the tremor of them holding her weight.

“...you...took me.”

There’s no anger in that tone, just...a raw recognition. And she wipes her eyes, the tears real from her _sobs_ …

Her hand lifts to his cheek, to feel if _he_ also cried, as he had in the dream.

\---------

His face goes _red_ as she goes further, as she confesses what he _did_ to her…

There are tear tracks on his cheeks, dried already from the tears he had shed in his sleep. From the dream…

He swallows, his rough palm cupping her cheek.

His arousal has only _grown._

“I… I'm sorry. It… It was an inappropriate dream for me to have of you.”

He strokes his thumb over her lower lip, as of _admiring_ it in the moonlight.

She really _is_ beautiful…

\--------

When he apologizes, she shakes her head, reaching up to trace his brow with a soft stroke. 

“...putting bedslaves in rooms with their owners, discussing sex the night before and then...punishing a slave for dreaming of it is beyond unfair,” she breathes, her fingers tracing the scar on his jaw, “...but even beyond that...is it so terrible to have such thoughts about me…?”

She pulls him closer, leaning into his hand. She’s been timid around men, even moreso after the ball a few weeks ago.

But not with Zack. Despite his size, his weight...his _strength_...she feels perfectly safe, even pinned beneath him. He won’t...take advantage of her. She knows without a shadow of a doubt he’d sooner take that branding iron to his own flesh than bring himself to take more than offered…

“...you’re...aroused…” she whispers softly, seeing the way he avoids even coming _close_ to her with his hips.

\---------

He manages a weak nod when she forgives him. She _had_ mentioned it the night before, so… perhaps that's what triggered such a dream.

She's so small, so slender. She is easily dwarfed under him, easily overpowered. And yet he could never dream of using it against her. Of hurting her…

And he's pulled closer, hips still avoiding hers…

And she knows.

He turns a shade darker when he's found out, looking away in embarrassment.

“I… will be alright. I don't want to rush you or… make you feel obligated.”

If she doesn't want this, it's fine. This isn't the first time he's had those sorts of dreams. He can handle himself.

\-------

She pulls him closer. Her arousal...there’s not much that can be done there. She’s come to realize that, after several _frustrated_ nights, nearly a year ago. 

Lost cause, she guesses. 

Some of the ladies of the court say it’s not real anyways.

Perhaps for some of them, a bed slave could bring this about. But for her…

She forgets about it, stroking Zack’s chest as she pulls him _very_ close, enough so she can slide her hand down his torso. 

“...it’ll help with the pain, though…” she whispers, knowing by this point his sedatives will have worn away, that he’ll be back to the same pain he was in before. “...and...I’m curious.”

There’s nothing _seductive_ about her voice, nothing sensual or laid on. Nothing like his master’s wife, who toyed with him, cornered him, and then when he proved _inadequate_ cried rape, just to watch him _suffer_. 

Instead...her voice is almost innocent, with a thread of passion underneath. She’s curious. 

\-------------

As he's pulled closer, he can't keep his hips away. His arousal brushes her thigh and he makes a soft sound of _embarrassment_ , pressing his face into her neck to hide.

His pain has returned, though not as severe. Only aches now, and a numb, hot feeling where his brand rests. His left ear aches too, but from sleeping with a stud for the first time.

But her voice… It's an honest statement. Honest curiosity. 

“...What are you curious about, Aerith…?”

She's virginal. She _has_ to be. A princess as fair and beautiful as she…

He couldn't be the one to deflower her.

\------

She makes such a noise, not to feeling his arousal against her thigh, but instead to feel his face against her neck. The innocence of that action touches her so much, the way he wants to _hide_ , the way he’s nervous and scared…

“...Zack…” she whispers with a soft laugh, kissing softly against his neck, stroking the ribbon laid over. She spends a few moments straightening it, pulling her legs up beneath her while she makes certain the ribbon is loose and soft against his bruised skin…

“...I was given instruction,” she whispers softly, “...but...not much in the way of anything else. More biology...not a lot about…”

She trails off. Has to think for a moment…

“...I have dreams...many dreams. Mother says I sense what people feel, their most intense emotions...which is why I have nightmares so often, but…”

But sex dreams...dreams of intercourse, dreams of _rape_...they’re not uncommon. 

“...it’s...it’s nothing unfamiliar to me,” she whispers, looking down. A hand lifts to rest over her breast, a little protectively. “...but...never...the pleasure.”

It’s not the right word, but she’s never spoken about it before. 

“...The...the climax?”

It’s a soft question.

“...I always wake before.” 

Even in rape...she always wakes before her rapist spills inside her. A mercy, though it always leaves her wondering who was _hurt_...who must now spend the morning pretending as though they were not just _torn_. 

\-----------

He listens to her, near _purring_ as she kisses at his neck. She's so soft, yet he can sense the pain as she talks…

But he pauses, pulling his head back so he can see her face.

He has never felt pleasure by another, it's true. But times where it was too painful, times where he could not wait… He had pleased himself with his hand.

“You… You're saying that you never… climaxed?”

It feels so _personal,_ far too intimate to ask. But… If he is to be her bedslave… Does that make it more appropriate?

\--------

She settles back against the headboard, taking hold of a pillow to hold to her chest. She’s not afraid of him, in the least...just a little shy.

Embarrassed.

Her legs come to her chest, but an arm extends, still touching Zack’s shoulder. She doesn’t want him to leave.

She flushes as though answering his question will have consequences, and her voice is very soft when she does speak.

“...I...I can’t,” she whispers, a little noise in her throat. “...I...I can’t…”

Soft green eyes peer into Zack’s. 

“...I...I know the _act_ can feel nice…” her voice, again, is soft, as though afraid she might be thought of as _defective_. “...a-and...with you, in the dream…”

The fullness, the weight of his sex in hers...it was _good_. Better than any of the other dreams she’s had. 

“...but I just...don’t think I can climax.”

\--------

He sits back as she moves, on his knees. He watches her, listens to her…

He's heard masters complain, their mistresses complain. A woman's orgasm is a hard thing to reach-- a myth, to some. But it _must_ be real. Some point of pleasure to the pain of a woman's life…

He smiles softly, reaching forward to stroke her hair.

“You can,” he reassures softly. “You just… have to know what you like.”

Could he… give that to her?

\------

For a brief moment she seems to _consider_ it, leaning into his touch as his fingers gently stroke along her still damp curls…

“...maybe,” she whispers, slowly uncurling. “...but…”

Her eyes dip down again. She wants to bring _him_ pleasure, the desire for it _strong_ and willful. 

“...have you ever climaxed?”

She asks the question, and wets her lips as she does so, both hands lifting to gently pull him closer to herself. 

\-----

He follows her guidance to be closer, but rather pin her again, he simply sits beside her with his back on the headboard, resting his head against her shoulder submissively.

Though, he can't look at her. Just down to his own feet.

“I… I have. By myself. Never… never by another… Or with another.”

It's… a little embarrassing. Confessing to _masturbation_ to a _princess._

“By… my own hand…”

\---------

She kisses into his hair, reaching to softly stroke his neck, his back…

“....can….can I see?”

She’s nervous and anxious but terribly _curious_ , her fingers trembling slightly against his shoulder. She’s nervous that what she’s asking for, for his vulnerability and _exposure_...is just too much. That she’s prying...because even _he_ has the right to privacy…

Or, at least...she grants him that. Her hand slides down to his hip, careful not to go to the one _hurting_ from the brand...the _other_. Her fingers softly stroke along his hipbone, just above the pantline.

“...is that...is that alright?”

\-----

He lifts his head in surprise when she asks, not knowing for a moment what she means, until those trembling fingers stroke at his hip. His silken pants do a _horrible_ job at hiding his arousal, and as his eyes adjust to the moonlight, he fears she might see too much.

But she had washed him, just yesterday. She had seen him nude and bare, and yet had not shied away.

But he still thinks himself _ugly_.

“If you want to,” he whispers after a moment, reaching to stroke at her forearm, at the hand so close to the ties that hold his only clothing.

“I… I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I can excuse myself for a moment to be rid of it, Aerith. It… is nothing more than what you saw in the bath.”

\----------

But she’s _curious._

And she doesn’t want to chase him away….

Carefully, her fingers toy with the stays in the front, finally pulling the strings loose. She can’t see _too_ much but…

Her fingers stroke down Zack’s stomach, careful not to startle him with a sudden touch. She pets below his navel curiously, crawling close and settling between his thighs. 

“...what do you think about…?” she whispers softly, gazing rather than touching just yet. “...or...what would you think about...tonight…?”

Would he want her to touch him? Would he enjoy that, or would it only distract?

\----------

He's stiff, though it isn't from discomfort. He simply isn't sure of what to do with himself, as the princess moves to settle between his legs, to untie the strands of ribbon that keep his pants in place.

His stomach flexes under her touch, sensitive with the pain he still feels all too well. She's going to _touch_ him, he realizes, and while the idea sounds nice…

“Tonight, I… would think of you.”

Though he shies, legs shifting as if he wants to hide.

“I…”

He can't deflower her innocence. He can't let her touch him, so soon. He knows that he is a bedslave, but before that, he is her guard.

And considering how _upset_ she had been, when speaking of a noble that touched her at the last ball…

“Please,” he breathes, hands trembling as he fists the sheets.

It's the middle of the night. She needs to sleep. She needs her rest.

But he is a slave. He must, and will, obey.

\----------

He hesitates...and Aerith does not chase. She watches him, the way he tries to hide, the way he _shies_ from her. It reminds her sharply of the way she had shied from that noble, only for him to _chase_ , for him to lay his hand on her arm and _hold_ her there, for him to continue _feeling_ …

She draws back, gazing at her guard quietly. 

“...I won’t...I won’t ever force you,” she whispers, her voice suddenly...a little dark. The number of times she asked for the noble to _stop_ , for him to let _go_ before she finally burned his hand with her own magic...it frightens her. And all the more if she were doing that to someone who had no recourse to resist…

“...I don’t ever, ever want to force you…”

She shifts back, afraid that she _is_ that noble now, but with ultimate control. That if it were her whim, she could make Zack her little _puppet_. He owed her his life, he would do anything for her…

“...a-am...a-am I…?”

\--------

It has nothing to do with her, he realizes.

It's his own _fear._ That he would be inadequate, that he would be unable to perform. That she would be _disgusted_ with him, just as the last, and cry rape to her guards. That he'd be strung up in the town square as a rapist, a filthy _pig_ , and face stones being thrown before one granted him death.

He knows he is far from beautiful.

Perhaps he just wants to make sure she'll never see it.

In his dream, he had taken her so _quickly_ , not having the respect to at least find a bed, a soft spot of floor. He had _fucked_ her, and while it felt perfect and tight and heavenly, it still proves him an animal. He had handled her so roughly, adding the prints of his thumbs to her gathered bruises…

What if he did that now? What if he got lost in the pleasure and ended up being _worse_ than the nobles he is set to protect her from?

But as she panics, he cups her face, planting a reassuring kiss to her temple.

“You aren't. I… I don't want you to force _yourself._ And I… I don't want to hurt you.”

_I don't want to disappoint. To fail you._

\----------

Her head tilts, leaning in close to his touch. Her hand lifts to keep his hand held tight to her cheek, nuzzling it softly, gingerly…

“...what is it, Zack…?” she whispers, “...why...why are you afraid of this, then…?”

There has to be something more, something why he seems so hesitant. Her fingers brush along his wrist.

“...please. Please, tell me…”

_Tell me everything…._

“...you can trust me. I won’t hurt you...I want to know…”

\-----------

He keeps his hands on her face, even when she asks and his eyes drop shut.

She may not hurt him, but what will she _think_?

“I…”

He isn't sure what to say. If he should mention the woman who cried rape, who got him so close to death…

He swallows, thick and _burning_.

He can't tell her that. He's never told _anyone_ that.

“I… I'm ugly,” he finally whispers, voice breaking in fear. Now that he's said it… Perhaps she'll see it. “I'm… an animal. But even less… I can't even do the work of an animal…” He can't pull a plow all day. He can't pull carriages alone. He can't give anything _useful._

“I'm not… fit… to be a bedslave… Especially not to someone like you.”

_I am not worthy._

\-----------

She sits there, still so close to him, in stunned _silence_. 

_Ugly._

He thinks himself _ugly_. A brute...but worse than a brute, one not even worth his salt. An animal but a _broken_ one, one that was sold for being inadequate…

Her heart hammers in her breast, tightening at the thought of it.

But he _isn’t_ ugly. Can’t he see that? The smooth cut of his jaw, his cheekbones, the powerful corded muscle…

She _huffs_ , a short half _sob_ of a retort, thinking of all his masters before who had called him _ugly_ , who had hammered into his mind that he is a brutish _beast_.

“....I think you’re beautiful…” she whispers, her voice tight with rage and sorrow tied at one. She rubs at her eyes, swallowing past the lump in her throat, “...f-from the moment I saw you, I thought you were beautiful. Gorgeous…”

Her hand lifts to his cheek, to trace the bones…

“...from your beautiful eyes, your dark hair…”

Her fingers trail along his cheeks…

“...your jaw is set like those in paintings. And they may be cracked and parched still, but your lips are lovely as well…”

Fingers trail down his neck, petting the muscles gingerly.

“...strong but elegant,” she whispers softly. “...built as a knight should be…”

She suddenly slams her fist into the bed, the _wrath_ now bleeding through even as tears spill down her cheeks.

“But you don’t _see_ it because of the true _animals_ that enslaved you. The ones that made you pull a plow like you were an animal, the ones that beat you when you _couldn’t_ do what it takes a team of oxen to do.”

She furious. 

She’s _sobbing_. 

“You’re beautiful, Zack Fair. Just like your name. It’s your masters who are the brutes.”

\----------

He’s limp as she touches him, as he tries to take her words to heart. But it’s _hard_ , after nine years of hearing how useless, ugly, _disgusting_ he is…

Perhaps she only likes _broken_ ones.

He keeps his eyes closed.

He wants to trust her and, in a way, he already _does_. He knows she won’t hurt him, won’t

make him so the _impossible_ like he’s been ordered before. She’s kind, she’s gentle…

But she’s so beautiful. And he…

His eyes snap open when she punches the mattress, her _fury_ spilling free.

His eyes… water. She’s crying, crying for _him_ …

“You… think so?” he whispers, reaching up to cup her face, to wipe her tears. To _soothe_.

“I… I’m not, though. You… you’re _gorgeous_. I’m just… scarred and weak and _ugly_ \--”

\----------

She whimpers, tears spilling anew when he rejects her words. She can barely make out her words amid the soft sobs.

“....w-when you...w-when you took me, in the dream...I was the same as you….b-bruised and scarred...was I ugly, Zack?”

She’s trembling a bit, reaching to hold onto his arm.

“...y-you’re not weak e-either...you’ve been mistreated...and you need care. But you’re not _weak…_ ”

Her eyes spill endlessly with tears.

“....they all think it, Zack...I’ve never met a slave that thinks they have any ounce of strength or beauty…”

\----------

As she sobs harder, as she _mourns_ the loss of any self-confidence he used to hold… He reaches for her, wrapping arms around her shoulders to pull her closer, to balance her on his thigh, away enough from his flagging erection to keep her from feeling discomfort.

“Shh, Aerith, I… I’m sorry. You weren’t ugly in that dream-- You could _never_ be ugly. You 

were born beautiful, and no amount of bruises or dirt could _ever_ hide that…” He reaches 

up, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“...I would… like to bed you. To be honest, Aerith, but… not now. I want to get better for you. Get healthier and stronger and…” And _earn_ her love. It feels wrong to accept it when she simply _gives_.

“I want to be worthy of you… I want to earn your affections.”

\----------

When he says he wishes to bed her, Aerith’s eyes turn dark. Her thighs briefly squeeze together, a little _writhe_. 

She wants to be bedded. 

But he tells her not _now_ and she nods, though it doesn’t stop her from looking a touch…. _crestfallen_. 

She licks her lips. Rubs her forehead. A sigh escapes her lips, her gaze falling to what’s left of his arousal.

“...I...I still...I still...want to..help you...climax…”

Her voice is so _tiny_ , as though she thinks she shouldn’t say it at all. 

_...at least one of us should climax._

\----------

He notices her brief _disappointment_ , chewing on his cheek. Does that mean… she wants him too? That she… doesn’t want to wait?

His hands slide down to her waist, stroking her sides through the warmth of her 

nightgown. His eyes briefly gaze over her, over the way her gown in bunched from sleep 

and their current position…

He watches the way her thighs squeeze and she _writhes_.

His mouth is dry.

“I…” She wants to help him, wants to _touch_ him. But the way she’s squirming… Perhaps he may not bed her now, may not sheathe his sex within hers, but…

His hand slides a bit lower, rubbing her hip.

“At least… allow me to help you, first.”

He could use his fingers. His mouth. He can show her that she _can_ climax, that she is able to feel the blind pleasure of an orgasm. To watch her writhe… Honestly, he could probably orgasm from _that_.

\------------

She can’t help the little _huff_ when his hand slides to her waist, the warmth of his hands just through the thin cotton…

But it’s when he _offers_ that she makes a little _mewl_ , hands lifting to rest over her breasts almost _shyly_ , soft green eyes lifting to his when he rubs her hip.

She _moans_ , though it’s so brief and soft. And though the words on her her lips to say she _can’t_ and that she doesn’t want him to push himself…

...all she finds herself doing is _nodding_. 

\------------

He nearly _melts_ as she moves, watching her hands raise to her breasts almost _hungrily_.

But she’s trusting him.

He pulls her a bit closer, fingers sliding down to her thigh and shifting her gown up so he can caress the smooth, soft skin there, letting his fingers play with her faint hairs on her leg.

“Let me know… if you want me to stop,” he whispers, both hands now sliding up 

her thighs. He presses a kiss to her neck, soft and _submissive_ as he worships her 

skin. She looks pale in the moonlight, almost like a ghost, like an angel fallen too 

soon…

“I swear… I’ll stop. I only want you to feel pleasure…”

\---------

_He_ was rough. Held her in place, wanted to see her breasts. And the brief moment he had hold of her, he _pinched_ her, roughly…

And there isn’t a single thing about Zack’s gently motions that remind her of that noble. 

Carefully, she lowers a hand, gathering up the cotton in one hand and lifting it higher from her her thigh. She writhes again at his submissive _plea_ , that he’ll stop the moment she asks…

Her chin tilts to better accommodate his mouth, reaching down to keep his hand held onto her leg.

“...I...I like this…” she mewls softly, breasts heaving beneath the thin cotton, “...please...m-more?”

She hesitant, though not for herself, but for Zack. But he seems willing...nearly _eager._

“...does...does this...pleasure you, too?”

Her hand lifts to bury into his hair softly.

\----------

She’s so willing, so _needy_ , and his arousal is growing anew. To see her writhe, to hear her moan for him, just as she had in his dream…

“As much as you want,” he breathes, sliding his hands up further, thumbs brushing at the 

edge of her sex. To feel coarser hairs there…

But like his, he won’t be able to use his mouth, and his fingers… he’ll be _blind_ too.

“It does,” he whispers into her neck, kissing up to her ear. To whisper into it, to give a _suggestion_.

“...Would you… like to sit… on my mouth?”

So he could be closer, more _intimate_ … And he knows she wouldn’t suffocate him, wouldn’t hurt him. He only wants to give her pleasure, to prove to her that an orgasm is _not_ hard to achieve…

\----------------

She’s limp in his arms until his fingers brush her sex, something that makes her go limp and _taut_ all at once. Her sex jolts against his fingers, pulsing, and she _moans_ a little louder at the soft brushing…

She drags in a soft pant, leaning to lay her chin on his shoulder when he _speaks_.

But the suggestion he gives...it _frightens_ her. Her knowledge of _positions_ and many things is terribly limited. 

She pulls back, enough to hold his face as though it is _precious_ to her. She gazes into his eyes, kissing his lips softly, as though afraid to let him go…

“....won’t that...hurt you?” 

The thought of suffocating her bedmate is the first thing, though she thinks of a few other things too…

“...p-please, I don’t want you to put yourself so low…”

It’s clear from her tone, she fears such an act is _demeaning_. Dehumanizing…

\----------

His thumbs pull her lips apart beneath her gown, a finger stretching to give a teasing stroke to her damp folds. He lets out a huff of a breath, a _laugh_ , when she looks so _scared_.

“No… I’ll be _fine_.”

He strokes her again, up to her clit.

“I want to please you even _more_. I want to taste you…”

He breathes heavily, eyes _dark_ in the moonlight…

“It… might actually be better for me. My back… hurts. To lay down… it might be easier.”

To have her knees on either side of his face… He won’t see it as demeaning, but a _privilege_. To have her trust him to be her _throne_ for the evening…

\---------------

She whimpers, a soft _pleading_ noise when his thumbs part her folds, brushing near her clit. Soft gasping moans escape her lips, the contact so fresh and new…

He sounds so _candid_ , something about his words so blissfully unarmed, for his own _pleasure_ as much as it is for hers. 

Aerith tilts her head, then shifts, setting down one of her pillows for his neck, waiting for him to lay down.

She keeps her hand on his neck, watching him carefully for signs of discomfort, though she fears he’s simply good at _masking_ it.

That scares her.

“...You’ll...you’ll promise me...that any time we’re intimate...you’ll never do anything that hurts you or makes you uncomfortable...”

It’s an order. The only _strong_ one she’s ever given him. 

\------------

As she pulls back to fetch a pillow, he pulls his hands away, easing himself down with a pained _flinch_ when his crude stitches pull at his skin. But he lays, propping his neck and head on the pillows. He reaches for her hips when she orders him, rubbing at her skin through the cotton of her gown.

“I promise. I swear it to you, if you promise to tell me if you ever want me to stop.”

He’s never done this before, personally, though he’s known slaves that had been forced into it. A mistress sitting on a slave’s face, threatening to smother them in exchange for pleasing their mistress.

But for lovers, the position seems intimate… _passionate_. And even if they

aren’t lovers...

“I want to do this for you, Aerith…”

\------------

She doesn’t straddle him, not when he gets settled. Not _yet_.

She nods to his exchange, an eager nod. Her hands settle on his face, and she climbs on top of him, though she straddles his chest rather than his face. Her mouth takes his lips, a gentle, _deep_ kiss. As though she wants to thank him.

She whimpers as she pulls back, putting his hands on her hips. And then...carefully...she pulls off the gown, not wanting the material to suffocate her lover…

She gazes down at Zack, squeezing the hand on her hip.

“...guide me, when you’re ready…” she whispers softly, bowing to give him one last lingering kiss.

\---------

As she kisses him, he _whimpers_ , rubbing at her thighs. And he watches, breath hitching when she sheds her gown and she’s _bare_ … He takes a moment just to look at her, to allow her beauty to _register_ with him. Her skin so unmarked, unharmed. She’s pale, beautiful, and he wants to _touch_...

He suckles at her lip before the last kiss ends, gently guiding her with hands on her hips.

He guides her knees to rest on the pillows on either side of his head, allowing his hands to slide down to her bottom, urging her to lower, so he can press his lips in a kiss to the inside joint of her thigh…

And he kisses her folds, nosing against her.

“...Are you ready?”

\------------

She’s careful to keep her weight off of him, to rest it on her legs and on her hands, which she keeps near his head, near enough to stroke into his hair to _encourage_ ….

She sharply exhales when he kisses her folds, a keening _whimper_ spilling from her lips. 

She nods, an _urgent_ nod. 

“P-please...please, Zack…”

Her fingers stroke his face, sliding along his temple.

“...m-my love…”

\---------

She begs for him, though he can’t see her nod. He moves one of his hands to part her folds, stroking his thumb over her clit, _rolling_ it as he murmurs a soft declaration of love. As if he’s _embarrassed_ to say it…

“...Love you…”

His other hand strokes at her bottom, massaging her cheek as he licks into her, moaning against her at her responses. At her _taste_ …

It’s… not as bad as what he’s tasted before.

\--------

She _eeps_ a little bit, the touch so utterly intimate but she’s too distracted by how _good_ it feels to be embarrassed. Her fingers work his hair softly, back arching with each small _motion_ …

She needs more, but she’s shy to ask for it. 

Pleading moans lift to the ceiling, as though she’s _desperate_. It’s nothing like what the slaves described, what Zack’s _witnessed_. She does well to keep her weight off of his nose and mouth, her fingers buried in his hair soft and _encouraging_ , pleading rather than demanding…

He’s offering her a _gift_. She’s not going to demand any _more_ than that.

\-------

He lets his eyes close, listening to her moan nonsense to the ceiling. Her hands card through his hair, though still _gentle_ , encouraging him not to _stop_ \--

He moves his fingers, easing his ring finger inside of her as the other hand holds her open, 

mouth moving to her clit, to lick at it, to _suck_. Her taste is almost _sweet_ , and he doesn’t 

mind it at all, slowly thrusting his finger to feel at her walls, to explore. He wants to take

his time with her, to let her feel the build before she crashes down.

Though his thighs move, his arousal now _straining_.

She’s far too beautiful for her own good.

\--------

_Her_ fingers had never felt this good…

She cries now, a long, drawn out noise of _need_ when his ring finger slides inside her. Her breasts heave as her breath draws tight, needing _more_ and so desperate for it…

There’s a heat in her belly now, building and boiling and her fingers are moving past soft touches to _clutching_ , gripping his hair, perhaps to the point of _bruising_ and yet it’s still somehow _loving_. She loosens her grip when she starts to realize what she’s doing, only for it to _return_ with another swipe of his tongue.

She’s _helpless_. 

She’s nearly undone, just from those touches alone. There are no demands, no shoving and nothing dehumanizing…

Rather, the only word other than _please_ that spills from her lips…

“Z-zack….Zack!”

She’s well into _edging_ now, long, drawn out whimpers escaping her pale throat. She’s completely in his hands, helpless and dependant on _him_. 

\--------

She’s _pleading_ , and he can tell she’s close by the whimpers, the desperate call of his name, the way her walls _quake_ around his intruding finger…

He wonders what it would feel like to be inside of her.

But she’s close, and he wants to let her cum, pulling out his ring finger to replace with his longer middle. To gently ease it into her, to curl it upwards and look for a spot he’s heard about--

But while he explores, he continues to lick her, to place open-mouthed kisses at her damp

heat. He suckles at her folds before returning to her clit, rolling it with his tongue and 

sucking _there_ , moaning her name into her sex as he buries his nose in her curls.

_I want to make you feel good…_

But his own orgasm is building, just from the act of _giving_. He already knows he’s

likely soaked a spot on his pants with precome, arousal _weeping_ as it’s left unattended.

But he doesn’t focus on that.

This is about _her_.

\--------------------

The heat is so blinding, and she doesn’t have any of the warning signs of _experience_ to guide her. All at once it’s as though something inside her has snapped loose, feeling a flood of heat and tension that rises from her belly outward, making her flex her legs, her back arching as she _climaxes_ , a shuddering, helpless cry of _Zack!_ her only warning before she falls nearly _limp_ , his mouth making her squirm in the few moments it lingers…

Her breathing is deep, overwhelmed, a noise escaping her throat with each shuddering gasp, toes curling beneath her rear. She shifts back to make sure Zack can breathe, and without a moment of hesitation, she bows, pressing her lips against his.

She’s too broken and limp from her first orgasm to form any meaningful words, laying out against his chest as she tries to catch up.

Though after a moment, she does manage two…

“...t-thank you…”

\------

He nearly climaxes _with_ her, gasping against her as he laps at her, rubbing at her thighs before she pulls away, before she lays herself out against him. Her leg brushes his arousal in the process and he gasps, so _achingly_ close. If he could just reach down and--

But she’s kissing him, tasting herself, and he lets out a low moan as he cups her face.

He smiles when she thanks him, though he peppers kisses over her face.

“You… taste sweet,” he whispers, nuzzling into her hair. “Would be willing… to do that 

again.” After a long day, when she’s tired and run-down from her duties, to gently invite

her to bed and make her _writhe_. Make the tension leave her in place of boneless _pleasure_.

\----------------

It takes her a while, a while to become _aware_ again, and in reply to his offer, she just kisses him _deeper_ , nuzzling him and breaking off to kiss his jaw as well. 

And just when she nearly settles...is when green eyes open. She sits up, turning to look down Zack’s body, shifting off to reach over, carefully pulling his pants off of an _aching_ erection.

There’s a strong _curiosity_ in her gaze, as she gently wraps her hand around his cock, feeling the warmth of the precome at the top, sliding her hand down the shaft with it to smooth the way. She seems curious, and her touch, perhaps, would be too light were not her lover on the _very_ edge.

Her gaze darts to his, and she gives him another stroke.

“...by _my_ hand,” she whispers softly, assuring her new lover that she’s just as interested in _his_ pleasure as he is with hers…

\------------

He _moans_ into the kiss, letting his eyes close in pleasure. To think, not twenty-four hours before, he had been shivering and cold in a cage, waiting to be shipped off to market…

But she moves, notices his pain, and he lets out a small _hiss_ when the air hits his warm

arousal. He lifts his head to watch her, but as soon as she touches him, it drops back to

the pillows with a _gasp_.

His hips twitch, just slightly, along with his cock, as she strokes him.

He’s too close to the edge to be expected to last, far too aroused by her moans and 

_eagerness_ as his mouth worked her over the edge. But he doesn’t argue, too lost in 

that pleasure to do anything but muffle his noises, far too accustomed to doing so to

stop now. But his breath hitches for a moment, barely a minute into her soft touches,

and there’s a shaking, _quiet_ whimper.

“A-Aerith--!”

And he cums into her hand, muscles twitching and back arching, biting on his own fist to stifle any cries. His toes curl, stomach clenching, as he rides it out before dropping bonelessly to the sheets, breaths heaving in his chest as if he’s _dying_.

\--Or perhaps he’s already dead, and has been led to heaven with an angel of his own.

\----------

She watches his orgasm, watching the symphony of his sex pulsing, the way his toes curl, the way his stomach flexes...but beyond that, it’s his _face_ that gets her, the way he bites his fist and the soft whimper of _her_ name….

She leans over him, back to his face, to take a gentle hold of his cheeks and press her lips deeply against his. 

“...w-was...was it good?” she asks softly, brushing his hair from his eyes. She commits soft kisses to his nose, to his cheeks and jaw, soft repeated kisses to help soothe him, help him settle down…

“....that was so wonderful, Zack...thank you...thank you for trusting me…”

She nuzzles him softly, whispering in his ear for him to stay still…

She leaves for just a moment, returning with a cloth to offer him for his mouth, the other she uses to wipe clean his sex.

\---------

He manages a weak agreement when she asks him how it felt, lips tingling where she's kissed him so _much_ and brain still muddled from the high of his orgasm.

He _whines_ when she leaves him, sitting up proper to wait for her to return. He sighs sharply when he's cleaned, still sensitive, though he only uses the cloth to wipe sweat from his forehead and her sex from his nose and chin.

He sets it aside, hanging it in the bedside table to dry, before he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. He maneuvers the blankets to cover their bare bodies and he _holds_ her, protective.

“...You should sleep now, my princess.” It is less than a title now-- Now, an endearment of his love for her. “I will protect you…”

And he will be there when she awakens.

\--------

She _eeps_ a little, when his arms lock around her back and she’s drawn beneath the covers, though her body is limp and loose and easily maneuverable. 

Her hands rest against his arms, making a soft noise as she presses her breasts to his chest. She nuzzles in tightly against his shoulder, her eyes slipping shut as she settles in. 

“...my brave knight…” she breathes softly against his ear, settling as close as she can.

And it’s that way that she rouses, the next morning, with the light of dawn, the very _first_ light. She gazes down at the man sharing her bed, bowing her head to softly kiss his forehead.

He must be _exhausted_ , after all he’s been through. But as the light filters in, she watches…

He’s terribly bruised, she can see his bridle marks in the light now clearly. His neck looks terrible, and even from yesterday the ropes have left their toll.

Yet despite all this...he is _eager_ with her. Eager to serve, eager to please…

Her fingers trace his ear, where her diamond stud still hangs, the only mark she’s made on him.

She settles back beneath the covers, fingers tracing soft patterns against his chest.

\-------------

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has rape in it. please be careful.

 

Sleep takes him easily, dark and dreamless. He rouses from time to time, never sleeping _deeply_ , and he makes sure he's holding her, makes sure she's alright.

Sometime in the night, he grows far too warm under the covers, folding them over Aerith instead. He puts his pants on for decency, and dozes again.

The final time he wakes is to soft fingers tracing bruises and scars on his chest. He makes a small noise as he wakes, opening his eyes to see his princess in the morning light.

He will never stop being in wonder at how _beautiful_ she is.

“Good morning,” he greets, voice thick with sleep. He still aches, still feels pain, but it is a small flame in contrast to how at _peace_ he feels.

But there's a slight chill in the air, and he wonders if she's cold.

“I'll stoke the fire.”

_I'll keep you safe, even from a chill._

\------------

She shivers under the covers, watching him sit up to stoke the fire. But she bundles up in the blankets, leaning over to get closer to his back, her fingers softly stroking the marred skin from the stitches and prior beatings…

“...there’s a small jar in my bathroom, it’s green...can you bring that to me?”

She wants to treat his wounds, keep them numbed and clean. It’s the least she can do…

Her hands gently hold near his hips as well, wanting to check his brand and treat it similarly. She doesn’t much care about the fire right now, wanting to take care of Zack first.

\-------

He moves to stoke the fire, but he doesn't even get out of the bed. Aerith's hands are on him, tracing the valleys of bruises and mountains of scar tissue in his back. He lets out a shaky sigh, thinking she finds it _ugly_ , but her words and touch are far too soft to be disgusted.

“Of course, Aerith,” he says softly, though he flinches when she touches near the pain of his brand, where the skin is still red and swollen around the mark.

He stands after a moment of her exploring, though as he walks, it's clear that he's favoring his right side.

He stokes the fire while he's up, then retrieves the green jar and returns to the bed.

“Here you are.”

\---------

She frowns, a soft sympathetic frown when she sees him limping just a bit, and when he returns, she reaches for him, sitting up beneath the sheets and unscrewing the lid. Her fingers dip into the salve and she carefully layers it over the worst of the stitches, careful not to _rub_.

After a few moments, the salve will tingle, and then numb….

She channels a bit of magic into her fingertips, to help encourage the work _faster_. Maybe he could be out of pain by the end of the week, if she’s diligent…

She slowly pulls his pants down, enough to see the cotton square over his brand. Carefully she takes it off, layering on the salve by barely, barely touching the ruined flesh. Her touch is as light as she can manage, knowing how much it must hurt…

“...easy,” she whispers, as though soothing a spooked horse, “...this will help, I promise…”

Her fingers carefully channel a bit of magic, knowing it will feel like _heat_ and a bit of a burn, but it’s better this way…

\---------

He sits carefully on the edge of the bed, biting his lip to muffle any sounds of pain as she works. The salve works fast, tingling against his wounds before they go numb, pain dulled. He relaxes, though when her fingers pull off the cotton wrapped over his brand…

It is, by far, what hurts the most. He can still smell the burnt flesh when it's exposed to open air, and he goes _tense_ as she layers the salve as gently as she can.

He tries to relax when she speaks to him, though the muscles on his back twitch as a small _whimper_ escapes.

But the salve works quick again, a gentle warmth accompanying it that is not as dangerous as the heated iron that hurt him in the first place.

“Thank you,” he whispers, assuming she's done now. She's still far too kind to him, but he is _so_ grateful…

“...You should dress before breakfast arrives.”

He stands, limping less but still cautious. He crosses to her wardrobe, to get something for her to wear.

\-------

She can’t help a faint giggle when he suggests she dress.

“...so eager to get me back in clothes…?” she asks, her voice a touch _teasing._ She’s trying to make him _laugh_ , to make the air in this room one of lightness and intimacy.

She stands, wearing the comforter about her shoulders as she wanders over to him, watching him stand at her wardrobe.

“...they don’t bring me breakfast on mornings like this. I go and eat with the servants.”

The fire’s warmth make it more bearable...when she drops the comforter in a pile behind her.

\-------

He turns _red_ at her teasing, stammering out “N-no, I mean, you don't want the servant to think-- I mean--” before he lets himself fall silent with a weak _wheeze_ when that comforter crumples to the floor and she's left bare.

He can see her proper now. The soft curves of her body, the gentle swell of a near-flat stomach from a good diet. The freckles in her face spread along her shoulders, a few scattered in other places that would had to have been born with her, rather than from the sun.

She's beautiful. Impossibly so.

But he realizes he's staring, face red, and quickly redirects his gaze to the fire.

“That… is very kind of you. To… eat with them. I'm sure they must adore you…”

\--------

She can’t help the soft giggle when she effectively _silences_ her guard, basking in his gaze like the barn cats bask in the slats of sunlight…

And when he looks down, she reaches for his hand, drawing it to her breast to hold softly.

“...actually, it’s a touch selfish,” she purrs out, reaching behind him to select a dress for the day, not bothering to _avoid_ brushing against him. “...their conversations are so much more….genuine. No one puts on airs there, at least...not like the nobles do. Eating with the nobles…”

She shakes her head. It’s like a game of chess, and she often feels like a fox amid hunters.

“...I like eating with the servants. Especially the kitchen mistress.”

Tifa’s one of her best friends.

She picks a pink dress, and picks a silk under dress to pull on first. The gown itself is simple save for some intricate beading along the bodice.

“...they’re my friends. I feel...safe when I’m with the servants.”

The dress is on, and she reaches back to bind the stays loosely. Tifa will pull them appropriately tight during breakfast.

“....as for you…”

She reaches for a drawer where she had clothes brought yesterday. For now, simple slaves attire, a clean, fitted tunic and loose pants.

“...until you’re properly fitted for a knight’s uniform, this is what you’ll wear,” she says softly. “...if it’s uncomfortable against your back, I can have them bring you something looser…”

\--------

As his hand is pulled to the bare skin of her breast, he allows himself to look again, noting the way she's so _comfortable_ under his gaze…

But she brushes past him to fetch clothes for herself, and he stands aside to watch her do so. When she only loosely pulls the stays on her dress, he opens his mouth to offer help, but perhaps she simply doesn't like it _tight_.

“...You sound fond of the kitchen mistress,” he says softly, taking his offered clothes with a bow and a thanks.

She really _does_ want to make him a knight…

He dresses with his back to her, a bit stiff to keep himself from pulling at his wounds. The shirt does feel a bit uncomfortable, too tight, but he's never one to complain. Especially when he's given a shirt-- a privilege that had been taken from him years ago… Simply not worth the effort.

Once he's dressed, he turns back to her, awkwardly holding his silk pants as it not sure what to do with them.

“It fits well. Thank you, Aerith.”

\------------

She takes the soiled pants, gently setting them in a bin with her dress from the day before. Softly, she takes his hand, guiding him to the garden to pick several apples for the breakfast...and then she leads him down.

She follows her nose, heading towards the servants’ chambers, pushing open a door. There’s a moment of silent as a group of servants eyes Zack for a moment, pausing in their conversation.

But then Aerith perks up as she spots the kitchen mistress, gently taking Zack by the wrist over to her.

“Tifa...Tifa!”

A small group of girls gather around Aerith’s gown, jumping excitedly as Aerith closes the gap to her friend.

\---------

He follows her lead, carrying the basket of apples for her as they go downstairs, weaving through corridors and hallways that will take many trips for him to memorize.

As they get to the servant's quarters, he can smell their breakfast. Fried eggs and the damp smell of sugared oatmeal.

But the silence that falls when they enter makes him shift, uncomfortable, before he ducks his head and follows his princess like a stray pup.

Tifa is spooning oatmeal into the mouth of a weak, old slave, patting the old woman's hand before she stands, swatting at some of the children.

“Let her breathe! You all act as if you've never seen her!” She scolds, shooing them aside so she can get to Aerith, delivering a quick hug and kiss to her cheek in greeting.

“Thank you so much for that note last night, my lady. You saved our skins.”

But then she notices Zack, the way he looks at her curiously. He's large, broad, and his ill-fitting tunic only highlights his muscle. She raises a brow, looking expectantly at the princess.

“And who might this handsome stranger be?”

\--------

Aerith takes Tifa’s hands in hers with a smile, reaching to hug her in return, wanting the contact to last.

“...they are much too cruel to you,” she whispers, kissing into Tifa’s hair softly. “...anything I can do to gentle that…”

She pulls back when Tifa’s gaze falls on Zack, an almost _impish_ smile when he’s called _handsome_.

She extends the smile to Zack, almost an _I told you so_ , before she draws him close.

“This is Zack,” she says softly, lifting his knuckles to bring to her mouth, “...he’s my guard.”

There’s a drop in her tone, as apart from her _mother_...the only other one that knows of the attack is _Tifa_.

The soft knock on the door, late that night...the trembling _sobs_ of a broken, frightened princess not knowing who else she can talk to…

There’s still a faint _haunted_ look in Aerith’s eyes as she looks back at the kitchen mistress with soft eyes.

“...he’s gentle as a lamb, though I don’t doubt he could be a frightening opponent if crossed.”

Her lips pull back into a smile.

\-------

He flushes softly as his knuckles are kissed, as Tifa calls him _handsome._ Though he still manages a low greeting, not arguing against the way she leaves out the word _slave_.

“...Nice to meet you, Tifa.”

Though, Tifa is more distracted by the haunted look in Aerith's eyes. She remembers that night, remembers ordering a hold on the noble's food for what he did.

Remembers him storming into the kitchen to beat her. To rape her instead.

She never told Aerith. She wouldn't _dare_.

“He certainly looks intimidating,” she says instead, crossing her arms under chest and smirking a bit. A pleased _grin_. “And by the way you're glowing this morning, I can only imagine that he's taken good care of you.”

Oh yes.

She can tell, especially by the way Zack goes _red_.

“I wouldn't mind a strapping young chef, you know, if Zack has a twin brother.”

\----------

For being so unabashed this morning, Aerith is quick to turn _pink_ along with Zack at Tifa’s words, eyeing Tifa for a long moment before pulling her aside, towards a _quieter_ corner, and where small ears can’t hear.

She binds her fingers with Zack’s, reaching pull him close to her.

“....He’s _very_ good,” she whispers, earnestly, “...but he’s still in a lot of pain from what they’ve done to him. Do you...have anything strong? For pain?”

She knows he didn’t sleep deeply last night, even after their lovemaking.

She looks back up at Zack, gazing into his eyes.

“...he doesn’t deserve it…”

Her fingers brush aside the wild locks of dark hair gently, already seeing the touch of sweat stand on his brow.

“...no one does, of course, but...least of all him. They...had him strung up, when he first came...his only crime was panic.”

\------------

Tifa giggles softly when Aerith, too, looks a bit flustered, though instructs one of the children to continue spoon-feeding Gertrude as she’s pulled with Zack to a quieter corner.

“I’m sure he is,” she whispers after Aerith speaks, though it’s unclear if she’s commenting

on the pain or how _good_ Aerith insists he is. She looks up at the male, watching as he

leans so submissively, so _lovingly_ , into Aerith’s soft touches. She notes the sweat, and

she wonders if he might be feverish from spending so long in poor conditions.

“I have an aloe salve that can help if he’s been branded,” she says softly, smile pulling into a frown when she thinks of him panicked, strung up and branded like cattle.

Unfortunately, she knows that feeling too well.

“If he has a fever, it will also help with that. Unfortunately, though, that’s the strongest we’re permitted. Other than that, I can try a Valerian root tea. It can soothe some of his deeper aches, and it’s a good calming agent…”

She shakes her head, frowning still. “Those are all temporary. He’ll have to wait it out.”

Zack is silent throughout this, standing close to Aerith, half behind her as if hiding or guarding her back. But warm tea, an aloe salve… both sound good to him, even if they are only temporary. It’s much more than he is normally afforded, after all.

\-------------

She brushes his hair back, as if it will help, watching Zack’s head come down a bit. She cups his jaw, gently encouraging him down so she can kiss his forehead.

“...we’ll just have to be gentle with him until then…” she whispers softly, glancing at Tifa warmly. “...he wants to help in the kitchens.”

She strokes at his shoulder softly, giving his chest a gentle pat as she turns back.

It’s clear she’s _proud_ of Zack, for having withstood such abuse, but for offering himself _anyways_. For still having humanity, for caring about those in need.

She settles him down at a less full table, near Tifa, fetching Zack a bowl of oatmeal and kissing the side of his head.

“....there’s good hope for his freedom though, he said he’s a debt slave. I’ll check in after breakfast, see what I can find about his records…”

She takes her own bowl, slicing an apple to offer slices for the others at the table.

\---------------

He _bathes_ in her affections, bowing his head so she may kiss his temple. He follows her to the table and sits beside her, an honest “thank you” as a bowl of steaming oatmeal is placed before him. Tifa brings a plate of scrambled eggs for them to share, along with her own bowl of oatmeal that she places chunks of apple into.

“Sir Cloud is in charge of the records, isn’t he?” she asks after a moment, blowing on her spoonful before eating it. Zack eats quietly, still fighting himself on eating _slower_. It’s a hard habit to break.

“But if Zack wishes to help out in the kitchens, I’m certainly not going to refuse. For starters, he can take Sir Cloud’s breakfast to him. Though with those arms of his, I’m sure he’d be good at kneading dough for us.”

She gives him a little grin, still laying on the compliments as he blushes.

“I wouldn’t mind the eye candy either, if he’s willing to brighten up the kitchen.”

\----------

Aerith kisses Zack’s cheek when he blushes dark, a soft musical laugh spilling from her throat as she squeezes his arm gently.

“...you still want to help her?” she teases, setting aside her empty bowl to stroke back long dark locks. “...we can both bring Sir Cloud his breakfast…”

She stands up to fetch the tray, glancing back at Zack.

“...ready…?”

\--------

He’s blushing into his oatmeal as he’s given affections and Tifa’s grin, finishing his food when Aerith returns with the tray. But while she’s gone, Tifa speaks to him lowly, warning him about how often nobles make passes at her. To keep her safe, to know that there are only a handful of people that Aerith can honestly _trust_.

So when Aerith returns, he stands with _purpose_ , taking the tray from her to carry it.

“I can have Emily bring the aloe and tea with your lunch,” Tifa tells her, standing to give another hug before she pecks a quick kiss to Zack’s cheek. “Both of you take it easy today. I’ll see you later.”

Zack nods to her, giving his thanks as they begin to exit.

\---------

She lets Zack carry the tray, guiding him quietly to the noble’s wing. She softly raps on the door, letting Zack be the one seen rather than her.

The door opens.

A blond peers up, a little _startled_ at the sight of such a large servant, used to his breakfast delivered by young servant girls. His lips part, though, suddenly and _swiftly_ taken by the face he sees, wild blue eyes and a cut jaw, tanned flesh and a toned frame…

“Thank you,” he says softly, peering out behind Zack to see the _princess_.

\--------

When the door opens, he smiles politely, bowing his head as he hands over the tray. He was expecting an older man, perhaps, but this one seems to be around his age. Wide-eyed and wondrous, and Zack shies a bit when those bright blues linger on him for a moment too long before he notices Aerith.

He steps aside, letting her be seen.

However, he keeps Tifa’s warning in mind. He stays close to her, ready to defend any advances the man may make. He isn’t sure if Aerith trusts him, and so he _won’t_ until he’s proven otherwise.

He will protect her. No matter what.

\----------

Cloud shifts uncomfortably, glancing back at the guard who now eyes him as though he’s already _done_ something. He swallows a bit, opening the door and offering them to sit with him…

“...My Lady, please...what do I owe the honor…?”

But his gaze falls back to Zack, as though _nervous_. He watches Zack, though keen blue eyes spot the sweat on his brow, guiding Zack to a soft chair near the fire, encouraging him to sit.

“...he must be the one you chose yesterday,” Cloud says conversationally to Aerith, then turns to Zack. “...what’s your name?”

\----------

His suspicions still linger as they’re invited into his chambers, and they threaten to _grow_ as Cloud watches him. Is he sizing him up? Trying to judge his loyalty? Planning a move, and how to get Zack out of the way?

But as Cloud and Aerith sit and he’s guided away to the fire… he instead chooses to

sit beside Aerith. To stay close.

When he’s asked his name, he pauses, unsure if it would be inappropriate for him to introduce himself rather than Aerith doing it for him. Though when she’s silent, he answers, voice soft.

(He does feel _warm_ , a little lightheaded.)

“My name is...Zack, sir.”

\--------

“That’s actually why I’m here, Cloud,” Aerith whispers softly. “...Zack was a labor slave, but he says he went into slavery because of a debt. I think they expunged his records to make it so they wouldn’t have to honor his debt…”

Cloud’s expression tightens, back straightening.

“....that happens a lot with labor slaves, unfortunately. It just...it depends on if he was put in the records officially. Lots...aren’t…”

He sits closer, soft blue eyes watching Zack _gently_.

“...how old were you, when you were sold?”

\---------

As Aerith speaks so comfortably to Cloud, he… relaxes. Just a tad. She seems comfortable with him, and when Cloud looks to him, he sees the same pity there that he’s seen in hers.

When he’s asked, he hesitates for a moment. To confess, to let Aerith know how long

he’s been in the slave trade…

“I was… thirteen. When I sold myself.”

Sold _himself_. Told his parents that he couldn’t stand seeing them in poverty,

that he would find a better life for him. When his mother clinged to him, _begged_

for him not to, but he insisted.

“ _I want to take care of you. It’s better this way.”_

_\----------_

Cloud winces quietly, and though _silent_ , Aerith’s eyes water.

“...how many masters?” he asks, his voice _soft_. “...There’s often a lot of...selling off, to expunge records. After so many hands, some things...don’t come along…”

He goes to pour some tea into small cups, walking over and committing one into Zack’s hands first before he puts one in Aerith’s.

One look into her eyes and he knows she would have handed her tea to him anyways. And he wants those blue eyes to _soften_ , for him to feel _safer_.

“...how long ago, was that…?” he asks, gazing into Zack’s eyes softly.

\------------

He asks how _many_ , and he doesn’t answer for a moment.

He has to _think_ about it.

“I… Eight, I… I think… I never stayed long. I wasn’t… very good. I couldn’t do much, when I was younger…” Too small, too scrawny to do much. Being yolked and forced to carry heavy sacks of grain, pails of water… Work that graduated to plows and moving livestock.

“My last master… kept me for six months. Before I was sent to market…”

His hands tremble against his cup.

_Not worth the work to keep him. Just an ugly mutt. Weak._

_Useless. Rowdy. Disobedient. Barely worth his gravebed._

\-----------

Cloud’s eyes widen, and he comes to kneel down in front of Zack, resting a hand on those wrists.

“...legally you _shouldn’t_ do much…” he whispers, voice tight with concern, “...at least...now. Aerith’s fought hard to keep children out of the fields…”

She shakes her head, reaching to rub Zack’s back gently.

“...I want to keep them _all_ out of the fields,” she whispers softly, “...I’ve...I’ve seen what they do…”

Cloud reaches gingerly for Zack’s jaw, when he spots the fading bruises of a bridle.

“...if he’s a debt slave, he has a case in court. To bring them to justice.”

\----------

He sets his cup down as Cloud gets closer, and when he sees the same kindness there… He relaxes. He believes he can trust this man. Especially when he seems so _worried_ when Zack speaks of his past.

Those eyes find his bruises, and his jaw relaxes at the touch.

“I… don’t remember how much I was sold for,” he says softly, closing his eyes as the room threatens to spin. His heart _pounds_ \--

For Aerith to hear how _long_ he’s been a slave…

“I don’t know who _to_ , either… He… never told me his name.”

\---------

“Easy…” comes Cloud’s voice, gently squeezing Zack’s wrist, above where shackles have bruised him badly. “...easy. I’ll look at the records. It’s going to be alright…”

Aerith pulls Zack’s head to her shoulder, gently scratching his scalp.

“...can’t think of any gentler hands to be in,” Cloud says softly.

“....I want him freed, Cloud.”

There’s a moment of silence, followed by the sound of shifting. Cloud draws a cloak about his own shoulders, gives a nod.

“...if he has a record, then it’s just a matter of having a court settle his remaining total, though if there are names of those that did this to him on the record...they will likely be forced to contribute, for this level of cruelty.”

A hand, not Aerith’s, gently strokes through Zack’s hair, trying to soothe him.

“...otherwise...I’d imagine Aerith pays well. It won’t take long.”

\---------

He opens his eyes as he’s touched, laying limply on Aerith’s shoulder. He watches Cloud rub his wrists before he stands, eyes closing again when Aerith says she wants him _free_.

He wants to be free.

He wants to return home, to see his parents. To give them money, a good life…

To hold his mother again.

To see his father be _proud_.

But when a hand larger than Aerith’s touches him, he looks up, eyes searching for something in Cloud’s gaze… He trusts him, just as he trusts Aerith, and he hesitantly reaches to brush at his wrist.

Though he isn’t sure if unsolicited contact is _okay_ with Cloud.

“...Thank you, sir.”

\--------

Cloud’s expression softens all the more when Zack reaches back to brush his wrist. A soft, nearly broken smile, as he slowly pulls back, taking a deep breath.

“...we should go, see if we can find the records. The sooner the better…”

Aerith slowly stands, drawing Zack up with her, with an arm gently wrapped around the back of his neck.

“...you need to tell me if you’re tired, if you’re feeling winded…” she whispers against Zack’s forehead. “...please. Let me take care of you.”

Her hand reaches to squeeze his.

\-----------

He stands, though it’s obvious he’s a bit _weaker_ now. The pain is still there, deeper than the salve, and he’s been feeling _feverish_ since a few days ago, when he had been caged and shipped to market. He’s been able to hide it, to push through it, but…

“I… feel a little weak,” he whispers softly, telling only Aerith instead of Cloud.

But…

“...I want to go with you. I… want to see my contract…”

He wants to know… if he’s even _close_ to paying his debt.

\-------

Aerith finds herself rather touched at his admission, and a little _worried_. She’s glad he trusts her, enough to _tell_ her that he’s feeling weak...that he’s tired.

She kisses his brow.

“...we’ll rest after,” she whispers softly, “...would you like that? Maybe out in the gardens…”

She gently draws him to his feet, kissing those knuckles.

Cloud watches, eyes still soft...and a little _smitten_.

She follows Cloud, when he leads, following him into a library of files. It takes him a while, but he finally _finds_ the contract, relieved that he did so…

“Here,” he whispers, showing it to Aerith. “...this is it. Your original amount was double the standard amount, I assume...to give some money to your family…”

He reads over the contract, brows furrowing.

“For normal labor, this should expire in a few years…”

Cloud looks up at Zack.

“There aren’t a lot of names here. Only the first one. The court will probably settle more in your favor, if you currently belong to the princess.”

Aerith is quiet for a moment...then…

“...Can’t I just...pay it all? Now?”

\------------

He follows silently, though the idea of lying in her gardens sounds… _nice_.

He sits as Cloud searches through files, leg bouncing with _anxiety_. But he finds it, and he

smiles softly when Cloud mentions his family.

“Yeah, I… wanted my parents to have money.”

But he frowns when only one owner is listed, not knowing what that means. Has he

been… conned out of his money, then? Has he been illegally bought and sold…?

But when Aerith speaks up, his eyes go wide.

He knows she has money. She’s the _princess_ \-- The richest, second to her mother.

She would be able to afford him. To pay for him. He’s not _that_ pricey… is he?

“A-Aer…”

(He catches himself.)

“My lady-- I can’t… You… would do that?”

\----------

“...Debt slavery…” Cloud shakes his head. Scratches the back of his neck. “...it’s...it’s complicated. He signed a contract to work for a certain amount. There was...fraud before. so...the contract says he must work to earn.”

Aerith wilts.

“...so...he has to…”

Cloud shakes his head.

“...they’ll examine him, for the case. Best to have it done sooner rather than later. The record you have legally proves he’s had a certain number of masters. They...they may throw his case out. Too much work to find out what he’s worth...and...free him.”

Cloud reaches over, resting a hand on Zack’s arm.

“..after nine years...and the level of cruelty he’s suffered….they should throw his case out.”

Aerith exhales a shaky breath, bringing a hand to her forehead.

“...goddess will it so,” she breathes, a prayer. But then her head lifts. “...you’re...still a knight, right?”

Cloud smiles, giving a sharp nod.

“...would you be willing to take Zack as your apprentice?”

\-----------

The words don’t make much sense to him. All he knew was that if he left with the slave trader that day, he and his parents would have enough money to survive… He had signed the contract without reading it, desperate to do _anything_ to get his parents out of that house, that village…

Though, he has to be examined. He’s been _examined_ before-- Standing naked while

he’s poked and prodded at. Answering questions as to what every little bruise and scar

is from…

He hopes that Aerith won’t be there to see that.

But when Cloud’s knighthood is brought up, he’s back at attention, watching Cloud move. He certainly seems to have the strength, though Zack is bigger. The way he stands with a rod-straight back, shoulders up and _proper_ …

A knight’s apprentice.

He looks to Aerith, eyes wide.

He wants to refuse. He can’t _possibly_ accept. His status right now is still _slave_ , and…

And if the other knights are like the guards that had handled him the night before…

He swallows.

His trust… wavers slightly.

\-----------

Cloud picks up on Zack’s hesitance, blue eyes narrowing a touch.

“...well...it depends on Zack..”

He gazes into those eyes, seeing a touch of _something_ burning in those blue eyes.

“...it depends on what he wants. Depends of...what he wants to pursue...if he wants to trust me to be his master.”

Master...not to a _slave_ but to an apprentice.

\------------

He isn’t sure.

He wants to be a knight. He has _always_ wanted to be a knight. But, if he were to accept

the apprenticeship… wouldn’t that take him away from Aerith? His primary duty is to

protect her, but if he leaves her in pursuit of an apprenticeship…

He would rather see her safe.

He shakes his head, running a hand over his face when it makes the room spin.

“N-no, I… I’m to guard my lady, I can’t… I can’t be so selfish…”

After all, once he’s free, he’ll have every opportunity to become a knight’s apprentice.

“Maybe… after court.”

\--------

Aerith looks at Zack, her eyes piercing, trying to _read_ him. Her fingers stroke his jaw, seeing slightly past the desire to be the _guard…._

“...Zack...what is it…?”

Her hands gently grip Zack’s hands.

“...it is really about that? Or is it...something else?”

She lifts his hands to her mouth.

\--------

She is always able to get the truth from him.

He turns to look at her, clammy hands in hers. But he cannot hold her eyes, looking

instead at their conjoined hands.

“...For now, I am your guard. When… When I get my freedom, and when you

find a suitor that will protect you and take my place, then… then I’ll join the

knighthood.”

He wants to be a knight, he wants to be _home_ , but he cannot ignore his duties. Aerith is so

soft, so precious, and he doesn’t want to leave her vulnerable…

“And then, as a knight, I can… continue to protect you.”

\--------

Aerith’s eyes fill with emotion, squeezing Zack’s hands with a faint hiccup.

“...Zack…” she whispers, her voice trembling. She reaches shyly for his face…

“...it...it would be selfish for me to think you would stay and guard me forever, as much as I...as I would...want that...but you’d have time to train, if you desired it...it would not take your entire day…”

She moves, trying to get in his line of sight.

“...I...I want you to be happy…”

Her voice is soft...emotional.

“...I don’t...I don’t _own_ you, Zack…” her hand lifts to her breast, “...not in here. I want you to be free…”

She reaches shyly for his cheek, to stroke his jawline…

“...is it something else that frightens you?”

\---------

He finds it difficult to meet her eyes, seeing the emotions so _strong_ there. Perhaps of he did take up the offer, he would be better to protect her… He's never held a _real_ sword before, and he's sure it is much different from a wooden toy. If Cloud could teach him, if he could become stronger…

It is a difficult choice.

There's nothing to scare him. Nothing to frighten him to either choice. He's just… unsure. Unsure which path to choose.

He looks up, finally meeting those worries eyes.

“...There's nothing that frightens me. I… just need time to think on it.”

To have his dream so suddenly presented to him… He needs to make sure it's the right path.

“I'm sorry…”

\----------

She draws his jaw down with the soft suggestion of her fingers, answering his apology with a soft, gentle kiss.

“...take as much as you need,” she whispers, her voice soft and sweet. “...it’ll be alright…”

A smile pulls across her lips, a gentle...bittersweet one.

~

She would regret an open affection with Zack.

She would regret it that _night_ , when she bids him an affectionate farewell as she enters the court. He’s not yet allowed there, half because of his rank, but also because she wants to be sure he gets the rest he needs…

\----------

He heals well, in combination with Aerith's care and Tifa's herbal medicines. The offer is still at the forefront of his mind, and he decides that while Aerith is busy with court, he will meet Cloud in the courtyard for his first unofficial session.

He's grown far too used to her affections, however, kissing the top of her head as he bids her farewell before the heavy wooden doors of her court.

Lord Genesis watches the entire affair.

He is uncharacteristically quiet during the meeting of court, almost appearing _bored_ as they are alerted of the news. One of the prominent orchards has had a bad season, the winter will be upon them soon, so on and so forth…

When court is adjourned, Genesis moves quietly but _stealthily_ , catching Aerith by the elbow as she moves to follow her mother out.

They are the only ones left in the room.

“My lady, Aerith, could you spare a moment? I'd like to have a word.”

\----------

She felt something was _off,_ a sudden fearfulness the moment court convenes. And as she’s stepping out of the court…

Wide green eyes turn to meet Genesis’, suddenly feeling rather _small_. Her hands fold, though she gazes to the door…

“...w-what is it that you wish to discuss, Lord Genesis…?” she asks, her voice a touch _frightened_. Her eyes only meet his for but a moment, before they’re down. Away…

He _scares_ her.

\----------

Her eyes are wide, a doe caught in crosshairs. She's so small, so delicate, and he moves to block her view of the door. To make her feel _trapped._

He's already paid off the guards at the door. He has plenty of time.

He reaches up, pushes a lock of hair behind her ear in a gesture far too _intimate_ …

“...About that dog of yours, my lady. So uncouth, for it to be giving such open affections, even for a bedslave. You should be courting, my lady, though you seem so distracted by your new toy…”

She should be courting _him_. He's one of her better options, with plenty of wealth for himself to share with the dowry he'll receive. He's well educated, well read, and certainly more _attractive_ than her other options…

And to think she shows more interest in a slaven _mutt_ …

“Quite a shame to waste your time on it.”

\---------

She backs away from the touch, though quickly finds herself pinned to the wall, with no option for escape. Her shoulders quake, bare by the design of her dress.

“...I...I will court when I deem it time,” she whispers, trying to gather her courage, to be _rougher_. “...as for my interest in my guard...that is none of your concern.”

She’s scared, but fuels the fear to push his arm away from her, trying to get away, to get out the door.

“...if that is all, I think it’s time I leave.”

\---------

He watches her panic flare, though when she strikes out against him, he catches her wrist and presses her further against the wall.

“Your _guard_ is a belligerent _mutt_ that should be restrained. It attacked me, and I have a case in my favor to see him put down at dawn.”

Just yesterday, when he had gotten too close. Zack had turned to him, forced him back with a shove that Aerith hadn't noticed, too into her conversation with Sir Cloud to notice.

A gloved hand rests on her cheek, a mockery of _love_.

He wants her status. Her _fame_. To be king with Ilfana out of the picture and a gaggle of sons that look of their father to serve as their heirs.

“Unless you would like to make a deal, my lady…?”

\---------

There’s anger in her eyes, a tight fury...but it begins to fade. Her eyes begin to round, begin to flood with _tears_ …

“...n-no…”

Her hand suddenly lifts to Genesis’, holding it out of desperation.

“...please...no. What...what is it...you want…?”

As though she has to _ask_. As though she’s ever had to speculate what it is that Genesis wants out of her.

\-------

He holds her hand, knuckles stroking her cheek as her eyes swim with tears. He smiles, a feint of comfort.

“I want you to bear my children. To choose _me_ as your prince consort. To wed you and rule by your side, your highness.”

To become _king_ , to one day remove _her_ from the picture and hold power.

“In exchange for a slave's life… How unbalanced.”

\---------

“...I…”

One tear streams down her cheek, burying against the black leather of his glove. She trembles, holding onto his wrist.

“....I….I….” she breaks off with a sob. “....alright. A-alright, just...p-please, don’t hurt him…”

She looks to the door desperately, moving to leave.

\--------

His smile grows as she agrees, thumb brushing at her fallen tear. She begins to move, but he stops her, a hand on her elbow.

“If I see him, if you _tell_ him, I'll put an end to him myself. But for tonight, you are to dine with me.”

Dinner, and then to _try._

He's already taken the kitchen mistress, and if rumor proves true that she's grown ill and missed her bleeding, then he knows he is far from barren.

It will only now depend on _her_.

“I can have the kitchen mistress deliver our meal, or would you like to fetch it? You seem so eager to turn to slave work, my dear…”

And so eager to save a bedslave’s life…

_Disgusting._

\-----------

She doesn’t turn to look back at him, hung by the elbow as he speaks to her. She shivers, sobs echoing on her lips.

But she nods. Nods and then...begins to struggle. She needs time to prepare…

“...I...I’ll bring your supper…”

She fears Tifa seeing it. She fears that Tifa will tell Zack, and her loyal, wonderful guard will run to his death…

Her voice is broken as she looks down.

“...please...let me go now…”

\-----------

He releases her when she makes her decision, though his hand caresses her back, lingering a moment too long.

She is _soft._ He wonders how often Zack has touched her.

“Very well. Be quick about it, and don't tell a soul, or it's the head of your mutt and that kitchen woman that's on the line.”

His hand lowers from her, resting on the hilt of the intricate rapier he carries.

“I shall see you in my quarters.”

And then he leaves, exiting with _pride_ radiating.

\-------

When the doors shut and she is alone, she _sobs_ , curled up until she knows there is no more time left to linger. Slowly she stands, heading to the kitchen, avoiding the hall to her chambers for fear that kind blue eyes will spot her…

The kitchen is in chaos, and she prays she’ll be able to slip past unnoticed, to take hold of her lord’s tray without a word said to her…

Fingers grasp the edge of the silver tray, far more intricate than the others. She starts to pull it to herself, carrying it through the kitchen…

\-------

It's a busy night, with court running late, and Tifa is at her wit's end. The sickness in her stomach is from more than stress as she piles another tray to hand off to a waiting servant for delivery.

She has to run from the kitchen when her sickness surges, throwing up into a chamber pot before she returns, rounding the corner and seeing Aerith there, looking so scared as she holds a Lord's tray…

“Aerith? My lady, what's wrong?” She asks quickly, reaching to soothe her hand on the princess's bare shoulder.

Perhaps she is merely upset from court and grabbed the wrong tray…

“What are you doing here?”

\---------

Her hands tremble when Tifa grasps her shoulder, gazing up into soft, caring red eyes.

She can’t. She can’t let Tifa stop her...when both Tifa and Zack’s lives hang in the balance…

“...here to help…” she whispers, looking down immediately. “...please…”

_Please. Don’t ask. Don’t stop me...please…_

“...I have to go.”

She starts to pull away, trying to get out of the kitchen.

\--------

She frowns at Aerith's insistence, something telling her that something is _wrong…_

She huffs out a sigh, stroking the cheek she. Normally kisses.

“One tray, and off to bed with you. You're deathly pale, my lady. I'll send up some tea leaves for you. Chamomile and lemon.”

She moves aside when Aerith insists on leaving, though she watches her back carefully.

“...Be careful.”

She has, after all, taken a Noble's tray. She only hopes that it's someone more kind… or perhaps Cloud.

\---------

_Be careful._

It’s not until she’s in a hall alone that she sobs, carrying the tray as best she can, trying to compose herself as she taps softly on Genesis’ door.

She has no appetite. She does not eat. Her shoulders tremble as she watches him, never his eyes…

\---------

He is waiting for her, sword unsheathed and hung over the mantle. He will use it, if they are disturbed, as when he ordered his meal he also ordered no one to pick up his dishes until breakfast time.

But he watches her as she does not eat, as she shakes. And he finishes his meal, eyes never leaving her as she fidgets.

He places his silverware down on his empty plate and stands, stepping over to her and rubbing his gloved hand over her shoulder as if offering a massage.

“You seem nervous, my lady…”

He presses his hands more firmly, running at her tense shoulders. His lips lower, pressing a kiss to her head.

“You haven't eaten a thing…”

\--------

Her tension increases, tightening her shoulders despite the _massage_. A sharp whimper escapes her lips, and it’s everything she can do not to squirm away.

He’s going to violate her. She knows it now, though she probably should have known it earlier…

But she won’t fight him.

For Zack’s sake...he’s so close to freedom, so close to earning his knighthood, to return home to see his parents…

She can’t let him be cut so short...slaughtered just because of her unwillingness…

Was he not lashed to a plow for nine years?

Could she not just...allow this? For his sake?

Her heart pounds and her eyes lift to the noble’s bed.

\----------

He soon gives up his massage, though his hands move to shift her braid over her shoulder, to see the back of her neck.

“...You certainly are beautiful, my lady. I'll be gentle with such a gorgeous porcelain doll…”

His fingers brush at her neck, lips lowering to kiss at the sensitive skin there. But he follows her line of sight towards the bed and grins, grabbing her upper arm to pull her up.

“Let's go to bed. Perhaps then you might relax, my lady.”

\-------

~

She’s sore. Sore and _filthy_ , walking down the hall in bare feet.

Genesis seemed amiable to let her go after having taken her, uninterested in the _gentleness_ post sex. And she didn’t want to be touched any more…

It must be but an hour or so before dawn...and she climbs the steps shyly to her chambers, trembling and limping.

He promised gentleness.

But when she failed to open up to his touches, he became _rough_ , his temper slamming her down. And when she cried that it _hurt_ …

_It’s your fault. I’ve done everything for you._

She whimpers.

Trembling hands unlock her chamber doors, but she doesn’t go to her bed but the _bath._

She kneels beside the tub, wishing for a hot bath, wishing for _something_ to cleanse her of the filth she now feels.

But she fears waking Zack.

She fears the questions he’ll have.

_She fears the disgust in his eyes._

\----------

Training with Cloud goes well. It makes him sore and tired, but it feels _good_ , and he intercepts Emily in the hall to fetch Aerith and his dinner and a bag of tea leaves from Tifa.

He has been given his own key to Aerith's chambers, and he unlocks the door to step inside. He sets the table, lays out their food, and sits before the fire on his mat to wait.

And wait.

And _wait._

Sleep finds him eventually, exhaustion overpowering his anxiety. Though he wakes when he hears the door shut, lifting his head on time to see the edge of Aerith's dress disappear into the bathroom.

He takes a moment to stoke the fire, to fight the chill, before he stands and knocks in the open bathroom door, unable to see much in the darkness.

“Aerith…?”

Their dinner is _terribly_ cold.

\--------

She lays with her head on the lip of the tub, her arm wrapping over her eyes as she sobs. Her frame trembles, though she tries to keep it quiet…

Though when she hears his voice, when she sees his silhouette in the doorframe she _sobs_ , turning her head away.

She sobs and _shivers_ , the ice cold marble beneath her legs sapping her heat.

_Disgusting whore._

She tries to still her sobs, hoping Zack will, somehow, _leave_.

\---------

He hears her sob, and his heart _breaks._

He steps away only to fetch a candle, to throw an afghan over his arm to bring to her. He sets the candle on the basin, kneeling down beside her to wrap her in the thick weaves of the afghan.

He doesn't speak for a moment, petting her hair and kissing her cheeks as he waits for her to calm.

“...What happened?” He asks softly, as if speaking too loud will spook her. “Aerith…”

Something makes him suddenly _cold_.

Had she gotten attacked when he left her…?

\--------

Even though her heart _knows_ it’s Zack...even though she knows Zack would never hurt her, the touch to her hair, the kiss to her cheek...sets her off. She stumbles back with a sharp _whimper_ , lifting her arms over her head and shuffling back.

She collapses to the cold ground, facing away from him, her breathing sharp and labored. Frightened.

Her hands come to rest over her breast, deep beneath the afghan she doesn’t feel over her shoulders.

Even now...even _now..._ she’s terrified. Afraid that Genesis followed her to take her in her _own_ bed.

\-------------

He pulls his hands away as Aerith _flees_ , something stabbing through him as she collapses, breaths quick and panicked.

Someone hurt her.

He knows his own panic responses to understand that much.

He doesn't chase her, doesn't corner her. She needs space, so he simply speaks to her back.

“Aerith… My princess, my love… It's me. Zack. I would never hurt you… I want to make sure you're alright. You've been gone the whole night…”

He takes a breath, hands shaking.

Who _dared_ to hurt her…?

“Aerith… Talk to me. Come back to me.”

\--------

Her lips part to speak, but she can’t do it. She can’t bring herself to utter one thing or another...and it’s several moments before she finally _does_ say something.

It’s the image of Zack being led out to the gallows...the image of him being _stoned_...or whatever terrible, criminal’s death of an execution Genesis has planned for him that finally summons the cruel words to her lips.

“....g-go away…”

_...please forgive me…_

“....h-have…” she chokes on it, “...have you no sense of decency?”

She feels a hollowness settle in her soul. Break his trust. Break his heart so he won’t try to save her.

_Break his heart to save his life…_

“Leave me alone. G-get out.”

\---------

_Go away._

He sits in a stunned silence as she continues to push him away, not even turning to look at him.

       ...of course. What business does he think is his? He is a slave, less than dirt. The knighthood sessions were just something to keep him occupied so he wouldn't rebel. The love and affection to get him to remain loyal…

He knows how this is.

“...Yes, my lady. I apologize.”

_My lady._

_Not just Aerith anymore._

He stands quietly, exiting the bathroom, but pausing in the doorway.

“...supper has been served, but it is no longer fresh. I… I'll fetch you breakfast in the morning.”

And with that, he leaves, dragging his mat and blanket to the farthest corner of the room to lay.

...he should have expected this.

He wonders how soon she'll put him up for sale.

\------------

_Was it all so fragile…?_

She lays there, on the ground, trembling and weak for nearly an hour, the agony of what she’s just done mixing with the pain and anguish of being held down and _taken_.

And this time...there was no salvation, no waking before his orgasm, before the _worst_ part.

She’s been claimed.

She’s been taken.

It’s dawn...when she finally pulls herself off the floor...moving as silently as she can. Her broken gaze finds Zack, on that miserable mat, far from her. A deep sense of loss sweeps over her, and she wonders if his loyalty will lay broken too, after this.

_...perhaps he won’t care._

_...why should he, anyways?_

Trembling hands shed her afghan...to lay over his shoulders.

And she goes to lay down on top of her bed, watching the sun rise.

\--------

He wakes to find an afghan over him, to hear the absence of sobs. The sun has already risen, and he doesn't waste a moment to rise, muscles and bones stiff from sleeping on a mat after a training session…

But he pauses, looking to where Aerith lays.

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong...

He gathers the untouched dinner to return to the kitchen, balancing the tray as he pauses for a moment before the concern within overcomes him.

“...What would you like for breakfast, my lady?”

Perhaps… Tifa would.know.

\---------

She hears his words, but barely comprehends them, gazing at the window without seeing it or the world beyond.

She still lays in the gown she wore to court, though...one glove is missing. Her hair is badly mussed...and she’s disheveled.

But most disturbing is the fact that she won’t answer anymore, or even move. She lays still, eyes open, yet unseeing…

And every few moments she _shivers_ …

\---------

He watches her, heart _breaking_. She looks a mess, and her gaze is so far away…

But he remembers her order to _go away_. Perhaps she just… needs a moment.

“...I'll return with breakfast,” he says softly, hands _clenched_ on her tray. He lingers, wondering if she might respond, but her mind is clearly somewhere he can't reach her.

He goes down to the kitchen quickly, returning the untouched meal from the previous night and looking for Tifa.

A foolish thought, but he wonders if her distance is because it's her bleeding time…

\-------

She’s been thinking about it all night, the princess’ frightened expression, the _urgency..._ something is _terribly_ wrong, and after the rush of the evening meal...she hasn’t been able to put it out of her mind.

She should have seen Aerith by now, their twice weekly breakfasts together something of a high point for her. Today was usually their time together but...she didn’t come.

And when she sees Zack holding the untouched meal from the night before, coming into the kitchens...her blood runs cold.

“...Zack…” she calls softly, a hand on her stomach to try to quell any roilings of nausea from stress… “...Zack, what is it…?”

\-------

He places the tray down, frowning as he turns to Tifa. She looks so stressed, so worried… Likely how _Zack_ looks, after such a fitful night.

He finds it difficult to sleep without her.

“I…” He shifts awkwardly, bouncing on the balls of his feet briefly with his nervous energy. He’s so _worried_ , and if Tifa knows something is wrong…

“I’m worried about Aerith,” he says softly, stepping closer to prevent any of the

other staff from overhearing. “She… returned just before dawn. She told me to…

leave her alone. She didn’t eat, and she didn’t say anything when I asked what

she would have liked for breakfast…”

Perhaps it’s _him_. Perhaps she’s upset he didn’t come for her after his session. Perhaps

she feels betrayed, deserted. He failed her, just as he had feared would happen…

“...I’m not sure what to do.”

\----------

Tifa takes hold of his arm, feeling her heart sink with realization that her suspicions are _true_. Her hand trembles on Zack’s arm.

“...is….is she still…in her chambers…?”

Her voice is still, contained and yet... _terrified_.

She remembers. She remembers not wanting to move...wanting to lay still, the fear that Aerith would find her and demand and ask and try to find out…

_Is...is that what happened?_

“She...she needs to eat,” she whispers, her hands shaking as she begins to make Aerith’s tray. “...I’ll...I’ll come with you.”

It’s improper, to go without invitation. But she’s worried…

_...did he rape you?_

\---------

He nods at her question, though her worry is not something that sits well with him. He’s even _more_ concerned now, watching Tifa tremble as she makes her tray. He moves to help her, gently taking the silver tray to carry once it’s set.

“...Perhaps you can get through to her,” he whispers, a bit _defeated_.

He has failed her.

...Will she be rid of him, now?

He exits the kitchen to lead Tifa to Aerith’s chambers, ignoring the way an auburn-haired noble seethes in their brief passing.

He pulls the key from his pocket to hand to Tifa, so she can unlock the door.

“...I’m sorry.”

_I’ve failed._

\----------

Her head lifts when he apologizes, a sudden _sharp_ expression as her hand freezes over the key. She takes a sudden hold of Zack’s shirt, pushing him back against the wall.

Her hands tremble.

“...w-why are you sorry?” Her red gaze pierces his, suddenly _terrified_ he _did_ something. Her hands shake and she feels a strain of _panic_. “...did...did you _do_ something to her…?”

\---------

As he’s suddenly pushed to the wall, he nearly drops the tray, eyes wide and _scared_.

But she’s scared too, and she’s _shaking_.

“N-nothing… that’s the problem. I-I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to protect her, and s-something happened… I-I was selfish… I was with Sir Cloud.”

His eyes are close to _watering._

“I left her…”

\----------

She suddenly relaxes, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“...that’s...that’s not your fault,” she whispers, her hands moving back to the key. She walks over to the door, shyly knocking...and when there’s no response, she opens the door.

It’s so still. Nothing has moved…

Aerith hears the door open, pulling her arm over her eyes. She begins to tremble harder, unsure of what to say. She can’t get up, feeling both parts numb and incredibly sore.

She can’t look at Zack.

She’s hurt him…

\--------

He steps into her chambers quietly, placing the tray on the table with last night’s dishes still set out. He looks to Tifa with worry, before he looks over to his shivering princess…

“...Tifa is here. If… that will make you more comfortable.”

She had pulled away from him so _quick_ last night, as if his touch had burnt her. His affections have always been greeted in kind, even when unsolicited. She’s never been anything other than kind to him, and yet now…

Something must have happened. He just doesn’t know _what_.

“...I’ve also brought you breakfast, my lady, if you would like to eat.”

\----------

He returned to her, and that makes her tears flow all the more _painfully_. She finds herself utterly trapped, feeling cold and hollow and empty and _needing_ to be held by him, needing to feel his arms wrap around her to she can feel _warm_ again…

Unfocused eyes...lift. She trembles and gazes at Zack...then...shyly reaches for him. Tears stream down her cheeks…

She still feels the icy weight of cold _guilt_ for not being strong enough to send him away, to perhaps give him to Cloud. Cloud would keep him safe...Cloud would keep him away from Genesis.

She sniffles, her unspoken request _clear_. She wants to touch him.

\---------

He watches as she moves, as she reaches out for him. But he hesitates, scared she’ll _strike_ him, despite the fact she’s never done such a thing…

Quietly, he steps over to her, reaching down to brush his fingers over her cheeks, catching

tears and wiping them away. But he keeps the touch _light_ , ready to pull away if she resists.

He wants to hold her. To tell her that everything is _alright_. That he’s here, and he’ll

never leave her side again… If she insists on him keeping his knighthood training,

he’ll simply bring her with him. He should have never dropped his guard to begin

with…

“...I’m sorry.”

_Don’t leave._

\--------

Trembling arms reach up around his neck, pulling her head up to bury into his shoulder. She gasps, a sudden shuddering sob.

“...n-no...no, it’s...it’s….me...I’m sorry, Zack…”

Tears and kisses fall to his neck. She shakes _harder_.

“...I...I didn’t...I didn’t mean to...hurt you, last night…”

She shakes, her skin cold, shoulders still bare from the roughed dress, from what happened just hours before.

Her sobs lift. Tighter. More emotional. And amid them...he might hear the soft pleas for _forgiveness_.

\---------

He’s surprised when she clings to him so desperately, sobbing against him. But he’s quick to return, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, stroking his thumbs against her back. He hears Tifa move, step closer, but he just _holds_ her.

“It’s okay… It’s alright, you did nothing wrong… I forgive you, Aerith, I do...”

She’s so _cold_ that it frightens him, trying to lift her from where she sits.

“Come… let’s get you by the fire… You should eat, too, while it’s warm.”

_What’s happened to you…?_

\----------

Her eyes close. Presses her face against his shoulder. She doesn’t fight him, when he picks her up, though she makes a faint sound of _pain_ when his arm comes near her rear. She’s bruised and weak, limp after the pain fades…

She isn’t sure she wants to eat, but...so long as he doesn’t...ask…

She shivers when they get closer to the fire, her face burying gently into the crook of his neck.

She finally goes limper, her hands trembling, lifting her head to look at the tray (though she avoids looking at Tifa).

She’s starving. She sniffs softly, a trembling hand reaching for a fresh roll, curling against that breast while she nibbles.

\----------

Her noise of _pain_ does not escape him, so he adjusts his hold accordingly to carry her to the breakfast tray, Tifa pulling a cushioned chair towards the fire for him to sit, cradling Aerith against his chest as she nibbles bread.

His hands idly stroke her messy hair, wiping her tears and trying to soothe her. Tifa notices the loose stays on the back of her dress, and she feels nauseous at the implications.

Zack softly, gently, _carefully_ presses a kiss to the side of her head.

“...What's happened, love?”

\----------

She gets about halfway through the roll, the kiss to the side of her head finally making her lose the rest of her appetite. With a shuddering sigh, she lays her head to his shoulder and shuts her eyes.

She just wants to sleep.

Pale lips tremble as though she wants to speak, but will not, finally falling shut as she closes her eyes. She can’t tell him. She won’t…

There’s a brief fantasy, that Zack would put Genesis down, that she would see the muscles and power and _protectiveness_ that Zack has for her...that he would _save_ her from this…

But she can’t let it happen. Genesis would have Zack’s head.

The thought of it makes her cry _harder_ , though the only expression of this is silent, trembling _gasping_ sobs before she stills against his shoulder.

“...I….I just feel ill, is all.”

It’s a lie, a _terrible_ lie. A lie so trembling and transparent and _weak_. But she _does_ feel ill...she feels immensely ill.

It just isn’t the problem.

\------------

He holds her like a child as she weeps, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as if he can soothe her. But he doesn't miss the way his kiss makes her stop eating. He relents, just letting her perch on his lap.

He frowns at the answer. It's a lie, terribly so. If she were only ill… That would explain very little of what she's going through.

He looks up to Tifa for advice, not knowing if he should leave the lie as it is or confront her.

But he doesn't want to push her. He doesn't want her to push _back_. He doesn't want to hear those words again, to _go away_.

He's _scared_.

\--------

She wants a bath, she wants to scrape herself _clean._ She wonders if it will even help, if seeing the bruises on her frame, the stickiness between her thighs…

Nonetheless, after a few moments more, she moves to get out of his arms, rubbing her forehead as she half limps to the bathroom.

The door closes, no invitation or announcement of her intentions. The sound of running water echoes from behind the door.

And with a trembling voice, Tifa looks to Zack.

“...I...I think...she’s been raped…”

\-------

He watches with an expression of fear and _loss_ as she stands and limps to the bathroom, shutting the door on them.

And when Tifa confesses her fear…

It makes _sense._ She shies away from his touches, a _man's_ touches. She's limping, she's dishelved, she's _broken_ …

Anger swells within him, and he stands.

“...By who?”

He's _furious._ He had left her but a moment, and to think she had been _raped_. He's failed in the worst possible way, and yet she still had the heart to reach out for him, to sit on his lap.

He's disgusted in himself, but even more so at whoever did this to such a kind, innocent heart…

\-------

Tifa shakes her head, suddenly _fearful_ that it’s true. And she knows who it is, who it is that likely did this but…

“...you...You said she...told you to leave her alone…? When you found her…?”

Her voice shakes a little bit, red eyes darting to the door.

“...Zack...do you think...do you think she’s being...silenced? T-threatened?”

She shakes her head, her hand moving over her stomach.

“...there’s...they...t-they do that...to get what they want...Not just by force but...b-but by manipulation.”

No one would dare threaten her life, but…

“...Zack...you’re one of the most precious people in her life. She’s...she’s told me that…”

She gazes at the door, the realization making her blood run cold.

\-------

He listens to her, anger hot and cold within him. If someone's using his life as leverage against Aerith's _purity_ …

He would give his life, if he could stop it.

He runs a worried hand through his hair, pacing with pent-up energy. He can't know who it is, if she's so apt to keep silent about it. He can't stop it if he doesn't know who it is…

He shakes his head, looking so _heartbroken_ as he looks to the bathroom door.

“...I've failed to… protect her…”

\--------

The water stops. The sound of rapid movement, of _scrubbing_ begins to grow louder, faint small splashes as Aerith scrubs her skin raw. She sits in the cold bath, not bothering to heat it or care. She just wants the feeling of _his_ hands off of her skin…

~

It’s a letter that she receives in court, when she finally arrives, a note giving her clear instructions for coming again to _his_ chambers. What time she’s expected.

She feels his eyes on her in the court, trying to maintain a look of quiet fortitude. But she’s empty inside now...how quickly it all happened.

How quickly she’s been broken to his will.

She can’t tell her mother. That was the whole point of buying Zack. Zack was supposed to take this, to shunt the path between Genesis and herself. But now...now he’s cemented it. Her love for him and locked her in this hell.

Is it rape if it’s her fault?

She takes the tray again, careful to move around Tifa so she won’t be caught.

But small hazel eyes catch her, watch her walking into Genesis’ chambers.

The knock on Aerith’s door is _frantic_ , as Emily can only manage to get away after all the meals are delivered. It’s late into the evening...nearly bedtime when she raps on the door, frantically.

“Zack…!” she half whispers, half calls.

\---------

She is late again.

This time, he had gone to pick her up after court, but he had been too late. The guards told him she was doing some important business not worth telling him, so he obediently waited in her quarters…

Dinner is cold. Zack is _scared_. He can't even bring himself to eat in her absence.

He jumps when he hears the knocking, quickly standing from his mat and opening the door to see Emily, urgent and frightening.

“E-Emily?” he stammers, quickly stepping aside and opening the door wide for her.

“Emily, what's the matter?”

\----------

She’s trembling a bit, nervous as she rubs softly at her fingers.

“...The princess, she…”

Bright hazel eyes flood with tears. She had watched Genesis corner Tifa. She hadn’t told anyone what she saw that night, what she saw that noble do and _why_.

“...L-lord Genesis...he...he tried to touch Her Highness at a gala, a month ago...a-and...a-and when she told Mistress Tifa, s-she put a hold on his food but then he…”

Her voice is so _fast_ , so _frantic_ ….

“...h-he...he raped her...a-and...a-and now her highness is...at his chambers now…”

She had to watch. She had to watch because she snuck into the kitchen, and sat behind a barrel when Genesis took hold of Tifa’s long dark hair and made an _example_.

She still has nightmares of it.

“...sh-she came to get his tray...and t-took it there…”

\--------

He listens to her closer, crouching down to smooth his hands at her shoulders, through her dirty hair. He listens in _horror_ , stomach churning as he’s informed that this Lord Genesis has raped Tifa, and now has moved on to _Aerith_ …

“Shhh, shh, it’ll be alright,” he whispers, bringing her in for a hug briefly.

“...Go back to the kitchens so you won’t be late. I’ll help Aerith, I promise. I’ll… I’ll make sure Lord Genesis pays for what he’s done to both her and Tifa…”

To think that he had left her for just a moment, and now she’s being _raped_ …

He feels _ill_.

He dismisses Emily with another hug, leaving the dinner to chill in the room as he quickly leaves, hurrying through the corridors he barely knows to find himself at Sir Cloud’s chambers, rapping his knuckles against the door with _urgency_.

It’s late in the night. He hopes Cloud is awake.

He doesn’t know who else to go to.

\----------

It takes several moments for Cloud to leave his warm bed, eyeing the door with one part annoyance and another part _anticipation._

He does not oft receive visitors, let alone so late. And with such frantic rapping.

He swings a rich red cape about his shoulders and heads for the door, eyebrows lifting when he sees the princess’ guard standing before him, looking _stricken_.

“Zack…” he calls gently, “...what is it…?”

\--------

If he knew where Lord Genesis’ chambers were, he would have already gone there, barging in with no weapon, no plan, just to get Aerith _out_.

But Cloud answers, Zack breathing _heavy_ with his panic.

With every second that ticks by, Aerith could be getting hurt _more_.

He gives little explanation, grabbing at the knight’s arm.

“W-we need to go to Lord Genesis’ chambers, now, please--”

But he takes a breath, shaking as he forces out the only explanation he can.

“A-Aerith is there.”

_You need to help her. I can’t._

\------------

Without a word, Cloud takes hold of his blade, strapping it to his back. He takes hold of Zack’s arm next, quickly climbing the stairs towards the higher nobles’ chambers, blue eyes narrowed sharply.

“...that bastard,” he hisses as he rises, “...he’s probably paid off the guard too.”

He takes hold of a guard near the entrance, far enough way that he hopes he’s not been bribed.

“Wake Lord Sephiroth. Tell him it’s urgent.”

He doesn’t waste time though, pushing into the door.

The dinner lays upon a table, one plate cleaned of the serving, the other barely touched. The fire is nearly dead, and there’s _sounds_ beyond the door, in the lord’s bedchambers.

Faint, faint whimpers of pain. The sounds of skin slapping against skin. Periodically, there’s a louder cry…

Cloud stands _still_ , feeling his heart _stop_.

\---------

Zack follows him urgently, shooting a _vile_ glare at the guard as he hesitates before hurrying off. He isn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified that the door is _open_ , hurrying into the room to search _desperately_ for his princess--

The food is untouched.

Genesis doesn’t even _notice_ that he’s been disrupted, snarling as he forces Aerith’s legs open to keep thrusting into her.

“--If you open up so willingly for that _mutt_ , why not someone _worth_ it?”

But while Cloud is still and _horrified_ , Zack is _furious_.

But before he can get much farther than grabbing a knife from the table’s spread,

the door opens again, a guard nervously behind a towering man with a sword as long

as Zack is _tall_.

(Genesis has finally taken notice, roughly pulling out of her and stuffing himself back into his pants.)

\----------

Aerith weakly screams when he pulls out, when his hands come off of her wrists, pulling herself into a weak ball as he stuffs himself away, the sobs now coming in full force.

She’s terrified the face she’ll see coming through that door will be _Zack’s_ , that Genesis will have him killed, right there, for interrupting a _private night…_

But it’s not Zack.

Cold jade eyes pierce into the darkness, taking hold immediately of the situation. A hand takes hold of Genesis’ throat, dragging him through the chambers, past Zack, and flinging him into the hall to hold him at the point of that frighteningly long blade.

“Remain still, or my blade will _not_ miss.”

The sobbing echoes from the bedroom, faint and _heartwrenching,_ the figure of the princess strewn across bedsheets stained with blood.

He hadn’t even bothered to disrobe her this time. Just to rip through the offending parts of her undergown to get to her directly.

Her breasts are bare, the white shift ripped from urgency. Her wrists are bruised in the candlelight, her cheek darkened from where she had been _slapped_.

\---------

Genesis grabs for his blade when he hears footsteps, turning to see sharp _jade_ that makes him falter. He chokes, gags, as he’s grabbed by the the throat and _dragged_ , hissing out in pain as he’s slammed onto the floor. He stares down that blade with wide eyes, but _grins_.

“...Easy, there. Always quick to act before _thinking_ , aren’t you?”

Zack drops the knife back to where he found it, no longer worried about Genesis, but the source of the _sobbing_. He hurries to the bedroom, though he freezes at the foot of the bed when he sees the state of his princess…

She’s been _ruined_.

“Aerith,” he breathes, _breaking_ as he looks upon her. But he doesn’t move to touch her, fearing her _upset_ if he does so.

“Aerith, love, it’s alright… I’m here, I’ll protect you…”

\-----------

Her sobbing begins to still when her attacker is dragged away, and she begins to sit up, tries to pull together her ruined shift to bring about a sense of _modesty_ when she hears _his_ voice.

There’s no time to create a false front of _cold_ , to try to get him away. Wide green eyes fall on Zack, curling around herself to try to _hide_ as she begins to _beg_.

“Please, please, get out of here, Zack, he’ll _kill_ you…”

Her hands tremble.

“...h-he’ll blame this on you somehow, please, Zack…”

Tears stream down her cheeks, and she tries to move only to _yelp_ pathetically in pain.

“...I can’t watch him kill you, _please…_ ”

She’d rather be raped…

\--------

As she panics, he shakes his head, gently reaching to smooth her mussed hair.

“No, no… He’s been taken out to the hall. He can’t hurt me, Aerith, please…”

He hangs his head, _emotion_ running so high.

“Cloud’s here too. You’ll be alright. We both will.”

And to think she had been giving her _body_ in exchange for his _life_ … He’s far from worth that. He’s supposed to protect her, not be the reason she’s getting hurt…

“...Let’s get you back to your own chamber. You need a warm bath, and somewhere safe.”

\-----------

She closes her eyes, reaching for Zack’s hand to draw to her cheek, embracing the warmth, feeling the roughness of his hands from years of labor. There was something so _disturbing_ about Genesis’ smooth hands, and any contrast she can pull is a good one.

She sobs softly into his palm, melting and shattering at one.

“...I love you,” she whimpers softly, by way of explanation… “...I’m...I-I’m so sorry…”

She lifts her arms, willing to be lifted. From the door, without entering, Cloud knocks, extending to Zack his long red cape for her modesty.

“...please, I...I just want out of here…”

\----------

He wipes at her tears, glad she trust him this time. He cups her face, finger so _gentle_ as they cradle the stinging red mark of a slap.

He wants to get Genesis _executed_ for what he’s done.

When Cloud offers his cape, he takes it with a soft thanks, wrapping it around her shoulders. He smiles softly as she holds her arms for him, carefully lifting her from the bed and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You’re getting out of here. Don’t worry, princess… I’m never going to let you out

of my sight again. I’m never going to let this happen to you _again_ …”

He buries his face into her hair, inhaling to _calm_ himself…

“...Your comfort and the right you have over your body is not worth my life.

Please… don’t let anyone do that to you again. _Tell me_ … Or if not me, tell

Cloud… or… _someone_. I can’t stand to see you be hurt…”

Yet he carries her, cradling her bridal style as he gives a small, weak _thanks_ to Cloud.

\---------

She clings to him, burying her face in his chest as they step out and away from the pair in the hallway. She gives Cloud a soft expression from beneath that red cloak, closing her eyes and smelling the blade polish, the scent of ink and paper…

It takes her a while to speak, and when she does, it’s still tremulous. Weak.

“...I’m sorry,” she whimpers softly, “...b-but...he threatened to kill you. Tifa too...I...I-I can imagine he...would have threatened anyone...to get what he wanted…”

She begins to shake harder.

“...a-aand...and the thought of you or anyone being hurt for my sake...I...I-I...I couldn’t do it…”

She begins to tremble harder.

“...y-you must...th-think me filthy...choosing my own rape…”

\---------

He cradles her so _close,_ pressing another kiss to her hair as she speaks. But he frowns at her when she mentions the _disgust_ \--

If she does not find him filthy for everything _he_ has done…

“You aren’t filthy,” he whispers to her, eyes so _sad_ … He understands that all too well. “You didn’t choose it, Aerith. He… he blackmailed you. He was manipulating you…”

He looks to Cloud, a silent question if it’s okay to _leave_ , with the confrontation in the hall.

“...You’ll never have to deal with him again. I promise you… I’m never going to let this happen again.”

He _can’t_ allow it. He can’t fail her again.

\--------

“...Go on.” Cloud whispers, squeezing Zack’s arm gently, “...I’ll come by in the morning.”

She hiccups softly, clinging ever tighter to her savior’s neck. She whimpers softly, a sudden shuddering as her muscles contract sharply, feeling cold despite the warmth around her.

“...you saved me…” she finally whispers, a sad broken smile tugging at her lips. “...y-you saved me...j-just like I saved you…”

She falls to softly kiss into his neck, peppering his skin with soft, desperate touches of _gratitude_.

“...I-I...I didn’t...I didn’t want to tell you to go away last night...I-I just...couldn’t stand the thought of him hurting you…”

\---------

Zack holds her close as he quietly carries her to her chambers, rubbing at her back as she shudders and buries her face to his neck. He’s so relieved that she’s _okay_ , and he manages to balance her weight as he unlocks and opens her door.

“...It’s alright. I know, you were scared… But you don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not

going to leave you, either. I’m going to keep you safe, if it’s the last thing I do…”

Even if he’s killed for it.

His life for hers is a deal he’ll make.

He gently sits in the chair that still rests before the fire, situating her on his lap.

“...Would you like some dinner? It’s… cold, I know, but you haven’t been eating. Or… would you rather bathe now?”

He knows, somewhat, how _dirty_ it feels after being forced into sex.

“...You can be honest. You can talk to me. I… I can’t relate, but I know what it’s like to be… forced into something like that.” The mistress, cruel and _harsh_ , demanding him to pleasure her or else face the plows for the rest of his miserable life. Leaving him to die out there in the dirt.

He rubs at her shoulders, trying to pass on _heat_.

\----------

Her arms wrap around his neck a little tighter, sitting up as he speaks. Her eyes soften, when he asks what she wants.

“...a...a-a bath,” she whispers, then manages a _tiny_ , broken smile. “...n-not like the food will...get any colder…”

Her fingers touch Zack’s jaw when he speaks. She’d nearly forgotten…

“...my poor Zack,” she whispers softly, running shaking fingers into his mane, “...I don’t even know which is worse, having no choice because someone _owns_ you...or having to choose between those you love and submitting…”

She kisses his forehead, resting hers against it after the contact. She sniffles softly…

“...w-what...what happened? To you…?”

\--------

“Then a bath it is,” he sighs, smiling as she tries to lighten the mood, tilting his head into her hand. He gives her his full submission, he _chooses_ to, yet he grows a little tense when she asks…

To tell her… is the least she can do.

“...One of my master’s wives… demanded me to please her, in bid for my freedom. That was… when I was first used for plowing. Every day, I’d be forced to go out into the fields and… when I passed out from exhaustion, I’d be beaten and chained up until the next day. She… said that if I could bring her pleasure, she would take me back to doing kitchen work.”

He shakes his head, _embarrassed_.

“...I couldn’t do it. She cried rape and… I was nearly killed in the beating that followed.”

Carefully, he lifts his hands to her cheeks, brushing against the trails of her tears.

“I know what it’s like, to be manipulated. I know that… it makes you feel dirty, _stupid_ … but you’re neither of those things. You’re a victim, and unlike me, you’re going to get fairness. Lord Genesis will pay for what he’s done to you, and I assure you… that no one else will do the same.”

“I promised you my loyalty, and that I would give my life to protect

yours. I intend on keeping that promise until death finds me…”

\----------

Her arms stay locked around Zack’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to his brow again, when he trusts her to speak of it…

“...is...is that why you felt so filthy with me?” she breathes. It’s clear she relates, as she lays her head on top of his, trembling softly. “...you’re like sunshine to me…”

She nuzzles softly into his hair, her breathing beginning to relax.

“...I want to bring your old masters to justice.”

Her fingers softly pet the back of his neck.

“...and you’re so good to me…” she breathes softly, bowing to kiss gently into his ear. “...you’re so gentle, a-and...a-and you...you always make it feel _good_ …”

She feels an intense hatred boiling in her breast for someone that would force Zack like that, holding his freedom like a carrot before a mule, teasing and _cruel_ …

“...I love you. I love you, Zack…”

\---------

“I… was worried I would fail you,” he says softly, smiling as his pierced ear is kissed, as praises are whispered into it. He has made a habit to please his princess when she needs it most, and he has not failed her yet…

He holds her closer, pressing a soft, loving kiss to her cheek.

“And I love you, Aerith… My own angel on earth.”

But he moves, nudging her slightly.

“But for now, let's get you washed. Would you like me to boil water, or do you wish to do it yourself?”

To give her autonomy. To remind her that she still has _power_ , that all he's stolen is her innocence.

He rubs at her sides, though doesn't touch her hips, sure that she must be terribly sore…

“...I still have some of Tifa's Valerian root for pain, if you would like some tea while you soak.”

\--------

She lays her hands over the water, closing her eyes as she coaxes it warmer...and then hotter….

“...I don’t want you to move,” she whispers, a little spark of her old gentle dominance returning. The gentle dominance that leads her to bind her ribbons around his neck, the gentle dominance that leads to her nestled in his lap, kissing him softly.

The same self assured sweetness that would often bring his hands to her breast, to give of herself in a way she _knows_ will please him.

“...I just want you to stay near me...I...I’ve missed you. Terribly…”

She’s missed the warmth of his chest to her back when they sleep, their evening meals. The way she always tries to serve him the bigger portion, but...somehow always ends up with the larger portion of dessert…

She slowly moves to worm her way out of her ruined under garments, taking a deep breath before sitting up, half limping to get into the steaming tub with a shuddering sigh.

\-----------

He remains close as she prepares for her tub, helping her get out of her mangled dress before she slips into the bath…

He sees handprints of bruises on her hips, on her wrists, and there's blood between her legs that can't be from a normal bleeding…

He could _cry_.

But he moves to kneel beside the tub, tucking a fusion beneath him before she can insist he do so.

“I've missed you too…” evenings and nights spent staring at the fire and the door, curled on his mat when she returns just before dawn. The way she had ignored him, as if he weren't there…

He reaches for the bar of soap, dipping his hand into the water to lather.

“...Would you like me to help you wash?”

A choice. He is _scared_ that any unsolicited touch will cause her pain or panic.

\------

She nods. Eagerly.

Soft green eyes watch Zack dip his hand into the water, resting her head against the edge of the tub with a soft sigh. Her fingers move to softly stroke the inside of his wrist…

“Please…” she whispers, wanting to feel something _gentle_ against her skin. Her body knows Zack. Her body _trusts_ him.

She gazes into his eyes, reaching a wet hand to cup his cheek.

“...I can’t sleep without you…” she whispers, “...even my bed felt so cold and empty….”

\--------

He lathers the soap onto a cloth and begins to wash her, smoothing it gently over her shoulders.

He smiles when that hand cups his cheek, leaning into the touch.

“...I couldn't sleep either,” he confesses. He had grown far too used to her bed, to her warmth, to simply sleep on his mat… Especially knowing that she was _hurt,_ and there was nothing he could have done to help her…

He wipes the cloth about her neck, turning to kiss her palm.

“I'll sleep with you tonight, if you would like me to.”

\-------

She begins to relax, enough to let her eyes slip closed.

“...I do…” they open just barely, just enough to glimpse him. “...I want you with me, Zack…”

She reaches to brush her fingers along his cheek.

“...more...more than anything…”

There’s such raw _honesty_ in those eyes. She _needs_ him. She’s so attached she would let herself be hurt to save his life. Even now his presence calms her, despite still being worked up and scared…

\-------

He’s relieved when she agrees, turning his head again to softly, submissively kiss her fingertips. He wipes the cloth against her cheeks, wiping free the tracks of tears and the painful-looking mark of a _slap_.

“Then I will,” he says softly, cradling her face in his palm. “And I promise to keep you safe… I promise I won’t fail you again.”

To fail her again, to have her taken away from him and _harmed_ again… He doesn’t know

if he could _handle_ that. To be _useless_ in what she’s asked of him, to allow her to be

 _assaulted_ because he had been so selfish as to train under a knight…

“I… I’m so sorry for letting this happen to you…”

\---------

She trembles, when he apologizes, tears flooding anew in her eyes as she reaches for him. The sniffles come softly at first, then in full sobs, and it takes her a moment to regain herself. Even so, her voice is strained…

“Y-you...y-you never failed me,” she whimpers, amid the tears, “...y-you never failed me…”

She takes his hand to hold, sobbing softly against it.

“...it...it was my fault...I just...I couldn’t bear the thought of him hurting you…”

She squeezes his hand, tears and kisses falling to pepper his fingers.

“....a-and I didn’t mean to...I didn’t mean to make you worry so…”

\---------

As she cries, his throat _tightens_ , but he fights against the tears welling in his eyes. She’s already so _upset_ … He can’t burden her with his own emotion.

“Never… _never_ hold my safety higher than yours,” he scolds, voice _breaking_.

“I… I can protect myself. But I can’t protect you if you don’t believe that…”

Let Lord Genesis _try_ to harm him. Cloud has taught him well in self-defense and offensive fighting; enough that he could protect himself. But Aerith… Aerith is _innocent_ , pure… How _dare_ someone hurt her…

“It wasn’t your fault… It was _his_ , for manipulating you as he did so…”

Gently, he drops the cloth into the water so he can hold her, caring not that she’s wet and nude as he pulls her head to cradle against his chest.

“Please… _please_ don’t blame yourself, Aerith…”

\----------

She whimpers softly, but begins to settle, though she heaves out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding when she hears her name on those lips. Dark lashes close as she rests against him, trembling beginning to slow as she’s warmed to his breast.

“...I...I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” she whispers softly, “...it’s not...not that I don’t believe you can physically defend me...more his influence in the court. Influence with matters of punishment and execution…”

But she’s limp now, submitting to the soft treatment...to his words.

“...I...I prayed...you would come,” she whispers after a moment. “...I didn’t want him to hurt you but I...I-I prayed you would come…”

\--------

He strokes her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It feels so _good_ , to be able to hold her again, to have her _back_ … To have her _safe_.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, gently pulling back so he can see her face, thumbs catching her tears. “I understand. You were _scared_ … You don’t have to apologize for that.”

But she had _prayed_ for him. Prayed that he would come to her aid. And he _did_ , though horribly _late_ … But he has her now, he can _protect_ her…

“I’m here for you now. And I… I’m _never_ letting you out of my sight again. I’m going

to protect you, as well as I can…”

If the time comes where it’s a decision between his life and hers… he will gladly take the gallows.

\------------

She nuzzles his chest, exhaling a soft, weak sigh. She buries her face in that chest until she’s pulled back, her head laying limp in his hands.

She’s so tired…

“...thank you...f-for saving me…”

She finally lifts her head, making a soft whimper as she reaches for a cloth, wincing as she begins to wipe away the blood between her legs. After a moment though, her strokes turn harsher, scrubbing at the soft skin between her thighs, despite the sting, despite the _pain…_

\---------

He smiles softly at her thanks, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me… I was only doing what I should.”

He rubs her back as she cleans the blood, though he pauses when she _scrubs_ , rubbing her skin _raw--_

“Aerith,” he calls softly, gently reaching to brush his fingers about her wrist,

not willing to grab her bruised arm to force her to stop. “Aerith, love…”

He doesn’t want to see her _hurt_ herself…

“You’re going to tear your skin…”

\--------

His voice and the touch gentles her hand, though she sniffles a little without looking back at him. Her hand trembles over her thigh, and she lifts a hand to rub her face.

“...I...I just...feel filthy….”

There’s several places like that, her breasts, her neck...and her thighs and hips.

“...I just...want to get him _off_ …”

Her voice is oddly _desperate_ , still thick and weak. She swallows…trying to move her hand in gentler strokes, but the feeling of his hands on her, of his _sex_ against hers...it makes her whimper. Her skin crawls…

“...he was...he was upset. C-called...called me a whore...didn’t understand why I could...b-be with you, but not him…”

There’s marks, on her neck, on her thighs. Bite marks. Bruising made to mark _territory._

“I-I...I just want him _off_ …”

\------------

His heart _breaks_ for her. He can see the bruises, the ones in shape of hands and _teeth_. He was far from gentle with her, but despite the urgency to _get him off_ , Zack knows the bruises likely won’t fade for several days…

“I know,” he whispers, stroking his fingers gently at her arm, as if to show how softly

she should be washing. “I know, you want him gone… But what he said to you isn’t

 _true_ , Aerith. You’re not dirty, you’re not a whore… You’re nothing of the sort. You

didn’t deserve this…”

He cups her cheek in his palm, trying to redirect her eyes to him.

“The bruises… will take time to heal. But he’ll never touch you again.

I can promise you that much. I know he’s hurt you so _deeply_ , but you

will heal. You are no less pure or beautiful as you were when I met you.”

He just hopes she _knows_ his words to be honest…

\----------

Her shuddered sighs settle a bit, and she leans into his touch after listening. Her head falls limp in his hand, as though she wishes she could just...start to sleep now. With a soft huff she hands the cloth to Zack, silently asking him to finish.

_Perhaps his touch will help…_

She wants to try, perhaps...perhaps if he’s willing…

The bruises won’t fade. But...perhaps, for a few of them...she can think of _another_ when she sees them.

Still, it’s too much to ask for at the moment.

Her lips...drag into a wry smile though, recalling her similar plea to him, to erase the damage another inflicted on him.

“...my beautiful, loyal bodyguard…” she whispers into his palm, her head heavy in his hand. “...I love you…”

\----------

He gently takes the cloth when she offers, pressing another kiss to her temple as he washes her arms, her sides, and so _gently_ cleans her breasts, mindful of the likely tenderness. He handles her like glass, still a bit sore from the way she had jerked away, ordered him to _get out_ …

Her breath warms his palm as she speaks, his other hand gently rubbing the cloth over her

hip. He smiles back at her, lifting her head to chance a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“My beautiful, delicate princess,” he whispers back, setting the cloth aside once

he’s finished. “I love you as well…”

He pulls back, however, to fetch a towel, knowing she must be so _tired_ …

“I’ll take you to bed… Would you like me to brush your hair?”

He hadn’t washed it, of course, but she looks far too tired to sit in the bath much longer. He wants to get her clean, yes, but he also wants her comfortably dressed and cushioned in bed…

\--------

Her eyes slowly open...and she nods.

“...I-I would,” she acquiesces, reaching to hold on weakly to his forearm. Her lips tingle in response to feeling his soft kiss against the corner of her mouth, going willingly into his arms. She’s a bit wobbly, and has to rest a lot of her weight against him…

“...the...tray?” she asks shyly, “I...I should eat something. You as well…”

Her hand slides down his stomach, stroking with trembling fingers.

She doesn’t mind being clothed in nothing but the towel, at least for now. She curls up in it as she’s lain upon the soft sheets, her eyes slipping shut.

\--------

He wraps her in the towel and drains the tub as he helps her stand, half-carrying her to bed before picking her up and lying her there, a hand reaching to stroke at her hair as she closes her eyes.

“Sleep, for now, Aerith… Dinner is a bit too cold for now. You can have a hot breakfast

when you wake… I’ll ask Tifa for some extra servings as well.”

He hasn’t been eating much lately, either…

But he does go to fetch her a roll to offer her, finding her nightgown as well and gently

pulling it over her head to dress her. He settles behind her, pulling her to rest against his

chest between his legs as he gently unfastens her braid and begins to brush her curled

locks…

“...Your hair is beautiful,” he whispers, allowing his fingers to run through in wake

of the brush. “Of course… everything about you is.”

He will _lavish_ her in his love. A gentle reminder that she will no longer be harmed...

\-------

Her arms lift weakly, to make the task of dressing her simple and easy. Her fingers softly stroke his thighs absently as she’s brought to sit up, feeling her hair come undone and sighing softly in peace…

Her lips pull into a weak smile, fingers still softly curling into his pant leg.

“...I like your hair too,” she answers, that was one of the first things I thought about you. Your hair is so soft…”

The smooth brushing motion calms her, and she sways slightly, clearly exhausted.

“...thank you...for this,” she whispers, “...you’ve always been so kind to me…”

After all the abuse he’s suffered, she wouldn’t have blamed him for shutting off…

\------

He smiles as she sways, making quick yet _gentle_ work of her hair, letting it loose when he finishes.

“You deserve every kindness,” he whispers, gently wrapping his arms around her torso, nuzzling into her hair affectionately.

“But you're tired now… It's time to rest.”

He carefully maneuvers to slide out from behind her, drawing the blankets around her before he slides in next to her, blowing out the candle on the bedside table.

“I'm going to be right here with you…”

\--------

She’s perfectly limp in his arms, letting him move her, adjust her...she stays where she’s laid, and when he slides in beside her, she turns, rolling to hide her head beneath his chin.

Soft fingers lift to gingerly massage his shoulder, touching in the same way she had when they first met. Her fingers trail along his jaw, exploring... _feeling_ …

“...I’m so glad to have you,” she whispers softly, lifting his hand to put on her hip tiredly. Soft brown lashes brush against Zack’s neck as she grows tired…

“...I love you…”

~

She fades quickly in his arms, so exhausted from her trauma that she sleeps well into the dawn. News travels quickly, breakfast brought and a healer coming…

Aerith doesn’t want to move from the bed. Her legs stay closed as she sits up in her bed, hidden beneath the blankets when Zack goes to stoke the fire and bring the breakfast…

“Her Majesty has sent for me to examine the princess,” the woman says, eyeing Zack, putting a hand on his hip to _move_ him.

\------

He doesn’t sleep much, often waking at the slightest movement to ensure that his princess is alright. And when morning dawns and she continues to sleep, he does not wake her, silently slipping out to stoke the fire and fetch the breakfast Emily has delivered, giving her a smile and a quick ruffle of the hair to assure that everything is alright.

But it’s not until he sees the healer that he sours.

He recognizes her, and his hackles raise just _looking_ at her. The way she had brutally stabbed needle and thread through him like an old cushion. He fears that she’ll treat Aerith the same, and when he’s pushed away by the hip, he quickly regains his balance.

He is not the weak man he was when he arrived.

He strides past her to set the breakfast tray on the bedside table, gently reaching to take one of Aerith’s hands, squeezing thin digits in reassurance.

“...Are you alright, majesty?” he asks softly, keeping the title in the presence of

the healer.

\----------

She stays beneath the covers, despite Zack’s love and attention, she still...quavers a touch. Green eyes peer softly into Zack’s, squeezing his work rough fingers. But she pales slightly at sight of the healer, lifting a hand to rub her eyes.

“Milady, it needs to happen now. You risk infection otherwise.”

“I...I know…” she whispers, rubbing her forehead in a way that only reads as _distressed_ …

And before Aerith can say a word, the healer turns to Zack.

“Go on. You’re dismissed. The princess does not need an audience for this.”

\---------

He hovers, heart aching as she trembles. And she seems so scared, looking to the healer, and while he knows it’s what’s best… he wants her dismissed.

But, in the end, it’s _him_ that is dismissed.

And yet, he does not move.

Perhaps it’s a bit _childish_ , hating this woman and holding such a grudge, but he knows

that she holds no power over him. He obeys only his princess and queen.

He stands, back straight as he turns to look down at Aerith.

“...I believe that is her majesty’s decision,” he says coldly.

\----------

It’s not...that she intended _offence_ , gazing up at the man towering over her. But she knows from experience that girls don’t like being in the room with a _man_ while being examined so intimately. It’s not anger or wrath that she eyes Zack with, but sort of an exhausted look….a _don’t make this difficult_.

And she starts to open her mouth, to say something about that when she sees a hand, trembling and small, reach for Zack’s wrist…

“I...I want him to stay, Ma’am,” she whispers, “...I know it’s unusual, but...b-but he makes me feel safe…”

The healer is a touch...stunned. She remembers this one, remembers the way he had _thrashed_...the way his back was badly infected, the fear that he’d spread that infection everywhere if he wasn’t _closed up_ …

And she notices the grudge, the hate in those blue eyes.

For so long, the slaves she’s dealt with _have_ been animals. She’s worked with labor slaves before, so many of them past words and expressing their pain with teeth and sharpened nails…

And to see him looking at her, protective and concerned and eyeing her as though she would bind her princess up and stitch her shut….

It does make her pause.

There’s _guilt_ in those eyes, as she takes a cloth to lay across the princess’ bed.

“...if you would, then...set her gently on the cloth.”

\----------

He relaxes, _softens_ , when Aerith pleads for him, gently brushing his fingers over her wrist. But he looks up to see the healer _stunned_ and… for a moment, he swears he can see _guilt_ there…

He knows she wouldn’t dare harm the princess, but… his back still _aches_.

Gently, he pulls Aerith up, a hand under her knees and another against her back as he sets her softly upon the cloth. His hands linger, gently brushing her knee and tucking her hair out of the way…

He moves to sit on the bed beside her, offering his hand for her to hold.

But he sees that guilt again when he looks up to the healer, and he turns to Aerith for a moment before he returns, face… softened.

“...Thank you,” he whispers.

\--------

Old hands, gnarled from years of potions and careful medical work lift to Aerith’s hips, gently pushing up the gown until she’s exposed. Gently she pushes those ankles up to rest nearly against her body, then lets them fall to either side so she can begin.

Her eyes flick up to Zack, however, when the _gratitude_ is called…

“...sometimes...labor slaves behave...fiercely,” she whispers, “...it’s just...become standard treatment...but...I am sorry.”

Aerith turns her head away, to bury into Zack’s side when a cold salve is applied, to numb the pain so the healer can examine deeper…

“Easy, Milady. Think of good things…”

Her hand squeezes Zack’s tightly, nearly _bruising_ as she hiccups back a sob.

\------------

He nods, understanding… Most slaves had been treated like animals for so long that they had _become_ animals… He had seen some of them, thrashing out with intent to _harm_ …

But he’s distracted when she begins to prepare, an arm wrapping around her shoulder as

he gently squeezes her hand in return, showing no sign of pain despite her grip. He rubs

at her shoulders, trying to soothe her…

“It’s alright,” he whispers to her hair, pressing a kiss to her scalp. “I’m right here. You’re safe, Aerith… She’s… going to help you…”

He looks to the healer, to the look of concentration on her face…

“You’re alright… I’ve got you.”

\----------

But it doesn’t last much longer, the healer finding no tears, just bruising. She makes sure to coat the bruises liberally before pulling out, closing Aerith’s thighs and gently pulling down her dress…

“...no tears, Milady. I will leave you a salve, to help keep the pain down…”

That gaze returns to Zack, watching his touch be _tender_ and gentle, and she can’t help a soft, sad smile…

“...she was so protective of you,” she whispers to Zack, “...it’s good to see that love returned.”

The healer bows his head slightly to Zack.

“...you were in bad shape, I apologize for my haste…but it’s good to see you at your strength.”

\---------

He continues to soothe her even as the healer finishes, nodding to the note about salve… He wonders if Aerith will allow him to apply it, or if he needs to call the healer…

He looks up when the old woman speaks, a soft smile slowly turning his lips.

“...I apologize for my rudeness. You only… meant to help.” He bows his head in turn to her. “...Thank you, for helping the both of us…”

He gently lifts Aerith again so the cloth can be removed, gently tucking her back into her sheets.

“It’s over… Are you alright?”

\-------

Aerith wraps a weak arm around his neck when he lifts her, making a soft, half pitiful noise as she’s tucked back in.

She offers a soft _thank you_ to the healer, watching her leave, left alone but _safe_ with her guard dog of a lover…

“...sore,” she answers softly, unwilling to let _go_ of his neck. Her fingers play softly with the band of satin still bound about his neck…

~

The court sees neither hide nor hair of the princess for several days, not until Genesis is sentenced.

And it’s then that a guard appears at her door, knocking, and when answered, he hands Zack a summons.

“The queen wishes to see her daughter. You are to escort the princess to her right away.”

Aerith peeks out of her door, still subtly limping, and still _terribly_ shy. She puts a hand on Zack’s wrist after the door shuts, pressing her cheek to his arm.

She doesn’t want to leave her chambers still...but she knows she has to. And it’s only to see her mother…

 


End file.
